


take me home, where i belong

by paintedviolet



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Athlete!Danny, Established LaFerry, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Hollstein - Freeform, Illustrator!Carmilla, Journalist!Kirsch, Journalist!Laura, LaFerry - Freeform, Other, Some angst, Soulmate AU, Vampire Clan AU, Werewolf AU, Werewolf!Danny, Zeta Society - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-01 20:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 127,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4033264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedviolet/pseuds/paintedviolet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate AU, where everyone has the number of hours, minutes and seconds until they meet their soulmate tattooed on their arm.<br/>Carmilla had thought of Ell as her temporary escape, a freedom from the life she was leading. But Carmilla didn't need an escape anymore - she needed a home.<br/>Laura had always been curious about the idea of her soulmate, like everyone had. But instead of just searching for a sense of completeness, Laura wanted adventure.<br/>Carmilla and Laura may get what they want, but it might just tear their worlds apart.</p><p>Work title taken from Runaway // AURORA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Can't Take It Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter title taken from Runaway // AURORA.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla hadn't had an escape in so long.

It took 334 years for Carmilla to find her soulmate.

It took a shorter time to find who she _thought_ was her soulmate, and what felt like an eternity to get over her.

Carmilla had assumed that her numbers fading from her arm to leave a dull grey smudge behind meant that she’d found her. She promptly forgot about how there had still been hours and minutes and seconds – an extortionate amount, it seemed – printed on her arm before they had faded away. She cared not for it. She was too busy delighting in Ell’s presence.

She looked into Ell’s eyes and found an escape – from Mother and the clan, from her nature, from the anchor of obligation that had been bestowed upon her.

Ell had looked into her eyes and returned the love. Then she had regarded Carmilla with disgusted horror and fled upon being told by Mother what she really was.

Vampire. Blood-sucking fiend. Creature of the night. _Trapped_ , she would’ve added. _Trapped for all eternity._ She’d given up on thinking she was allowed an escape. Ell had shown her that much, at least. Still, Carmilla knew Ell’s reaction had been justified, if Mother had had anything to do with it.

And her mother was always good at reinforcing those sorts of ideas. Mother was always good at punishments, too. For trying to escape with a human, Carmilla had been sealed in a blood-filled coffin, while the vampire clan she was tied to wreaked havoc on the village where Ell had lived. Carmilla had known where Ell was at the time – a certain part of her, at least – and the fact only made her more distraught.

If she was as heartless as her mother, she might’ve admired the craftiness of her punishment. Carmilla was thankful that that statement was merely conditional on the impossible. As it untrue it may have been, however, she was still re-enrolled into the clan after her coffin was broken open by the bombs of the last human Great War. She was less heartless, yes, but she dared not let it show.

Until.

The numbers reappeared. The hours, minutes and seconds returned, steadily tickling. (They had reappeared when she was sealed, but Carmilla had been in such a soul-crushing frenzy that she hadn’t noticed.)

Until.

After so long, Carmilla entertained the idea of breaking free.

Until.

With the numbers getting smaller – not hugely so, but enough to instil something other than impatience in her – she realised that she had changed.

Carmilla Karnstein, for the first time in a long time, felt hope.

* * *

 

It was easier than expected.

That probably should have worried her, but Carmilla was past caring about the repercussions Mother might inflict. For now. Yes, for now, she was too caught up in the idea of freedom. She could even go as far to say she was ecstatic – a word she thought she’d never use to describe herself. It wasn’t like she was permanently under her mother’s gaze; Mother was old, and Carmilla was the first of a previous round of turned vampires. This new bunch – the third group after her own – were “much more modern, much more interesting, much more… wild”. Carmilla was almost offended. But, obviously, she’d been thankful to see Mother occupied by the new near-untameable vampires.

There had been a _slight_ problem, and his name was William Luce. He was a newly-turned vampire – a kitten, to use the correct terminology – and the clan’s leader (including Mother) had paired the two together so Carmilla could supervise his introduction into the new world to which he belonged. They had been sent to check up on the enemy clan that Mother was hoping to go to war with – a war that Carmilla was not going to welcome. William, of course, had been enraptured by the idea; if he could prove himself to Mother with this war, he would be satisfied.

Carmilla made sure to call him “Momma’s Boy” every time she had to address him. It made him hate her even more (though technically Carmilla was far superior to him, so Will could do little more than seethe) – but, oh, the satisfaction of it! There was truth in the nickname, though; the only thing stronger than his allegiance to his new mother was his appetite for blood (a flaw all new vampires had to learn to grow out of).

That was why Carmilla had picked the park to spy on the enemy clan. There was plenty of land there for Will to feed discreetly, and the winter meant that they could spy earlier and run into more humans. She knew he was hungry, too – really, being Will’s supervisor for the past few weeks had played into her hands quite well.

So there Carmilla was – sat on a bench, hidden by the tree’s shadow, trespassing on land she shouldn’t have been on, while the moonlight illuminated the faces of the vampires she was supposed to hate as they gathered outside a terribly conspicuous building. Her numbers had been whittled down to approximately a year now. She’d be relieved when they landed on 0.

Relieved, but also worried. Worried for her soulmate, who was yet to know what Carmilla was. She hoped they could cope with it. She didn’t want a repeat of Ell.

Carmilla was dragged back to the present by her phone vibrating. Of course, that would be William. She snapped it up in her hand and answered the call.

“Momma’s Boy,” she drawled. “Get into trouble already? If you’re not careful, I might have to tell Mother.”

 _“Don’t be so cocky, Kitty,”_ William laughed on the other end of the line. _“I know you’re jealous of my bond with her.”_

“You got me there,” was her dry response. A few centuries ago, she might have been. Mother had shown her the world; they’d gone to places Carmilla hadn’t even imagined could exist. And Mother had looked at her as if she were a glittering diamond among stones.

That was before the clan. Before Ell. Before the return of her numbers.

_“Anyway, I was checking on your side of things. We need to know what they’re saying; we can’t wait around any longer. We can’t lose this war because of your blatant refusal to do what you’re told.”_

Carmilla heaved a sigh at him. She’d come to expect those sort of words. Maybe one day he’d realise that nothing he said actually hurt her. “They’re not saying anything of any worth,” Carmilla informed him as she listened. “Just acting on traditions, swearing to secrecy. All of the boring stuff no one does anymore.”

There was silence on the other end. Carmilla couldn’t help it; a small smile formed on her face. “Will?”

 _“Kitty, there’s a human here,”_ Will groaned, his breaths ragged from the anticipation. _“I can smell them. Oh God, I’m so thirsty.”_

“Will, you just need to keep focused.” There was little feeling behind her words.

 _“Carmilla, I—”_ he moaned in pleasure at the scent. That was enough for him. _“Tell Mother I’m sorry.”_

The line went dead. Carmilla ended the call on her phone, a full-blown smirk on her face. This was it. This was her chance. Now she could run, and the clan wouldn’t care enough to find her. They’d had runaways before – always the older ones, the ones dissatisfied with clan life. They were never heard of again, and Carmilla was glad of that. She could be a runaway, too. She could rebuild her life.

She could do it. She could escape.

Carmilla rose from the park bench, put her phone into her pocket, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	2. Adulthood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura wasn't the only one to wonder about her soulmate, but she had a little knowledge about what it was going to be like.

Laura had always wondered about who her soulmate was, ever since she was young. She wasn’t alone, everyone did that.

It was common behaviour even in elementary school to talk about it, make games out of it. Hours could be spent on the school field, gossiping about what they’d look like and what their personalities were. If there were rumours of someone they knew finding out that they’d met their soulmate, all of the children would be wildly suggesting who their soulmate was.

And, of course, there were the soulmate role plays. Laura had taken part in these games as much as the next child, but the idea of having a boy as her soulmate never really appealed to her. So she’d played along, knowing that the real thing wasn’t going to be anything like what they were doing. For all of their words and games, _none_ of them really knew. The others were content to pretend they did, but Laura had never been like that.

Perhaps Laura’s father should’ve realised she was going to aspire to be a journalist when she came home from school, demanding to know what it was like when he and her mum had met for the first time. Laura still remembered the shock on his face and the immediate reverence in his voice when he spoke of his wife. It had been years since his wife’s passing, but his love for her hadn’t waned in the slightest.

 _That’s what it feels like_ , Laura thought. _Pure, real. And long-lasting. Unlike… this._

“This” was her situation with Danny Lawrence, a 6ft something athlete who was currently in North America, training for an international competition. It was Danny’s big break, all she’d ever wanted. Laura had known that months ago when she met her, she’d known this was coming up, but her heart had pretty much ignored that fact when she’d seen Danny and got to know her. Tall, brave Danny, who seemed to appreciate all of the things about Laura that other people didn’t.

Except Laura’s sense of adventure. While it worked well for her job, Laura’s ability to get herself into troublesome situations was impressive. For Danny, it was just stressful, and both knew that neither of them needed that.

So Laura was saying goodbye. To a person she wasn’t even officially dating. Because that wasn’t unusual or anything.

It was a long conversation, held over Skype. Laura was in the process of moving out of her childhood home, so they messy situation they’d got themselves into was _perfectly_ represented by how ridiculously untidy it looked in the background. Laura tried not to think about all of the embarrassingly childish items on display, while she did this very adult thing.

Sometimes she’d prefer it if she were a child again. Instead of doing messy adult things, like going through all of the break up clichés.

At least they both wanted to be friends again. That was the silver lining on the large, depressing cloud that had followed Laura around for far too long now.

Danny had to cut Laura off – her trainer wanted her to be somewhere, like five minutes ago. Laura ended the Skype call and hoped the image of Danny’s crestfallen face wasn’t going to stay in her mind forever. Especially as it carried with it a small sense of relief – now she only had her dad that was overprotective towards her – and the subsequent guilt that came with that.

With the end of the Skype call, however, she discovered an extraordinary thing. When she’d met Danny, her numbers had faded into a grey smudge on her arm – the universal sign that the person she had feelings for was not her soulmate. (Laura knew this; she’d checked it out on an online guide.) But now it was no longer grey; there numbers again! Hours and minutes and seconds, and… Laura made the calculation (with some help from Google) that she was going to meet her soulmate in a year.

The sight of them filled Laura with anticipation and excitement. She felt like a kid again (only heightened by her surroundings) – she was happy, hopeful, and a little impatient.

However long it took, though, Laura knew it was going to be worth it. They were going to be worth it. And God, was it going to be a story to tell.

* * *

 

“Earth to Laura? Dude, you’re _really_ out of it today.”

Laura snapped back to life, sitting up straight in the driver’s seat and looking at her work colleague, Kirsch. Kirsch smiled back at her, made curious by her lack of attentiveness (which, considering she was _driving_ , should probably be fixed).

She and Kirsch were the newbies at the _Styria Herald_ , the newspaper for Styria and Laura’s dream job. Instead of creating a competitive environment that Laura had sadly experienced before, they’d decided to pair up whenever one or the other needed help. In Kirsch’s experience, this happened quite regularly, so the easy alliance they’d established quickly became a tight friendship. This had only heightened when Kirsch had broken his foot, and Laura had only been too happy to car share with him while his foot was healing.

Laura was glad she had Kirsch. What Kirsch lacked in common sense or general worldly knowledge, he more than made up for it in his personality. He cared deeply about everyone he met and his patience for others was insurmountable. He was the first person to congratulate Laura when she got a good scoop, and the first to defend her if things went wrong. In return, she helped him when he couldn’t _quite_ figure out how to report his assigned story, or needed help with his research. As well as this, Laura listened when Kirsch spoke of his family – of his sister’s increasingly troublesome behaviour, of his mother’s recovery, of him missing his brother, Michael. Yet despite all that, Kirsch still came into work with an encouraging smile on his face.

He and Laura were like journalist partners in crime, and she preferred it that way.

“Sorry, I was just distracted,” Laura mumbled. She checked the road signs again and turned the car onto another road.

“You looked like you were gonna pulverise the car in front of you with your mind,” Kirsch chuckled. He paused. “Big day soon, huh?”

Laura felt the smile spread across her face. “You could say that.”

Kirsch jostled in the passenger seat. “Dude, you’re gonna meet your _soulmate_ tomorrow. It’s huge. I mean, look at Perry and LaF. I’m kinda jealous.”

Laura giggled. LaFontaine and Perry were soulmates, having married earlier in the year. Perry, her boss, was a mother hen to the max – efficient, protective, but always with good intentions. Her work ethic was to die for, too. And LaFontaine – well, their dynamic with Perry was an interesting one. Whereas Perry was conscious about safety and rules, LaFontaine was definitely the person to throw caution to the wind. They embraced the weird, they appreciated the brave, and kept their heart open for anyone. And – apart from Kirsch, maybe – Laura had never known someone so laid-back.

LaFontaine and Perry were like two magnets; they were polar opposites, but the force pulling them together was too strong to be overcome. Perry often brought LaF to the office in the mornings, when LaF wasn’t doing the work their boss – a super talented but weirdly nocturnal illustrator, the only one in Silas – should’ve been doing. Because of this, Laura witnessed first-hand how they worked: LaFontaine was the only one who knew the right things to say to Perry, even more so than everyone else, and Perry knew when to encourage them and when to stop them from… blowing up the apartment, for example. (LaFontaine had been a bio major; they’d told Laura over coffee one morning that they’d had to give up their dream of being a scientist, but Perry had surprised them when they moved in together by giving them their very own lab room.)

So, yeah, Laura was kind of jealous, too. But in a good way, of course. Laura never had anything against the two, and never would, not really.

“You’ll find your soulmate, Kirsch!” she smiled at her friend. “Don’t you only have a week left?”

He checked his arm, eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, you’re right,” he responded eventually. “But I always saw it as a race, between you an’ me, seeing who could find their soulmate first.” He gave Laura a cheeky grin, and Laura automatically smiled back. (Laura was yet to find a person who couldn’t smile back at Kirsch.) “Your numbers can jump, y’know,” he added matter-of-factly, as they pulled into the _Styria Herald_ ’s office building parking lot. “My dad’s said that when he booked the trip to Paris where he met Mom, his number jumped down from three years to three _days_.” He frowned. “Doesn’t really talk about that anymore. Doesn’t really talk about much.”

Laura winced. Kirsch’s dad wasn’t a particularly… sociable person anymore, not after the death of his son _and_ the strange attack on his wife a month ago, out of fear more than anything. The attack was bizarre to say the least – Kirsch’s mom had suffered from gouge marks seemingly inflicted by claws. She claimed it was done by the claws of a terrifying, wolf-like beast. She was healing miraculously well, and she had well enough upon discovery to say that she didn’t really have any bad feelings towards her attacker, because “the poor thing looked crazed out of its mind.” (The rest of the family, already on edge, had nearly gone insane at her.)

In any other town, her story would’ve been dismissed as a prank, a joke. But in Silas? The resultant and very serious town hunt had included every man and his dog. (It had reinstated community feeling, if nothing else.) And although Laura found the possibility of a wolf… monster… thing a bit creepy, she had to admit she liked the sense of adventure it brought. Laura had a soft spot for adventure, which was why journalism was her calling in life, and throughout her time on the planet Silas had only been generous in offering her it. She could never quite get enough of it, though.

As she gazed up at the _Styria Herald_ ’s office, waiting for Kirsch to open the door so she could help him get out, Laura smiled to herself. Yeah, her soulmate had better be ready for adventure, because there was no way in hell or Hogwarts that Laura was going to stop searching for it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	3. Don't Expect the Expected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura and Carmilla were meant to meet in the most romantic way possible. Life didn't always work the way they'd expected it to.

“Perry, I’m sorry, I can’t do the Styria Festival tomorrow,” Laura admitted into her phone as she strode down the street. For someone of her small stature, she could sure walk fast. “My whole family’s coming over, for the first time in _forever_ – well, since my Mom died – and we’ve had this planned for years. They begged me not to go tomorrow; my phone nearly broke with all of the Facebook notifications.”

At the sound of Perry’s raised pitch, Laura sighed internally. She knew she could’ve avoided the lecture Perry was giving her right now, she could’ve _easily_ avoided this. But no – here she was, hurrying in the rain on her way to her flat on this bitter Styrian evening, squirming at the feeling of the droplets snaking their way down her neck. That was _another_ thing that could’ve been prevented, had she remembered to bring a coat. Like she ever did. _Great going, Laura._

Thunder rumbled above her, its sudden, deep growl nearly making her jump out of her skin, and her eyes darted skywards. Crap, she was going to get caught in a thunderstorm. Well, this day couldn’t get any worse.

Nothing had been going right today. Her article on Silas’ annual book club festival due yesterday was just refusing to be written, and Kirsch had unfortunately been little help today too. (Honestly, she didn’t blame him; it was hard enough trying to write about the history of Silas Manor without having someone pawing at your arm and wailing that they needed help.) Perry’s stress levels had been at an all-time high – LaFontaine had finally managed to blast their eyebrows off even under Perry’s careful supervision – and her insistence on handing over overdue work had really got to Laura. As well as this, the idea of meeting her extended family tomorrow again after so long did little to calm her – they were lovely, she knew this, but she imagined she wouldn’t appreciate scores of adults cooing “Look how much you’ve grown!” like a toddler again. That was even _before_ the nervousness from the upcoming meeting with her soulmate was considered.

Which was supposed to happen in – Laura checked her arm – five minutes. Great. Well, her soulmate had better have a thing for stressed, grumpy women, because that was how they were going to meet her.

Stressed, grumpy, and… Laura couldn’t suppress the groan that escaped her mouth when she stepped in a puddle that made her legs _thoroughly_ soaked. _Make that stressed, grumpy, and thoroughly soaked women. Ugh_ , she thought bitterly to herself.

In fact, she was so busy telling Perry that the groan she’d elicited was _not_ about her – and _yes_ , Laura appreciated that she was being so lenient with her, and that she was grateful for Perry’s managing techniques, she’d really come a long way since being under her supervision – that she simply forgot about meeting her soulmate. Aggravating your boss was never a good idea; if it meant that meeting your soulmate had to be forgotten for a bit, then so be it.

Laura had somehow managed to calm Perry down, and now they were talking about the next Styrian Festival (which Laura was looking forward to reporting on, and yeah it was a year away, but whatever). In doing so, she hadn’t been looking where she was going, or who might be around. It wasn’t like the abysmal conditions helped that, either; Laura could only see a dark blur at first and the rain reflecting the streetlight’s beams ever so slightly when she collided with someone.

“Oof!”

“Hey, watch where you’re…”

Laura’s phone had been knocked out of her hand and it clattered onto the sidewalk, but Laura didn’t really take note of this. She didn’t take note of anything but the woman in front of her. The woman who’d bumped into her, with quite some force, who was wearing only a red plaid blouse on top of a black shirt, leather trousers and black boots (and really, _wow_ ). The woman, with raven black hair, eyes so dark they could be called obsidian, finely sculpted features, and skin as pale as the moonlight. She was clutching something, possibly a drawing pad, and her stance had immediately gone from defensive to… soft. Laura couldn’t really think past how beautiful this strange woman looked and how, in comparison, she probably looked like a drowned rat.

She barely managed to get out the words, “Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going!” Even when she did, they rushed out of her mouth like a waterfall.

Illuminated by the streetlight, the woman gave her a small smirk. “It’s okay, cupcake.”

God, even her voice was like velvet. Deep, smooth. Alluring. Laura shook herself – now was not the time to fall in love with random strangers. She gave the woman a small smile and scuttled to pick up her phone.

The strange bond that had frozen the two broke; as both looked away from the other, they seemed to realise why they’d been rushing in the first place. When Laura looked back up, she was startled to find that the woman was gone again. But the image of her still lingered in Laura’s mind, like the whisper of a dream.

Laura didn’t have time to settle her thoughts on that; Perry must’ve thought that she’d been mobbed on the sidewalk. When she picked up her phone, once again hoping to console her boss, she failed to realise that the numbers on her arm had finished counting down to 0.

* * *

 

Carmilla was so angry, she was glad she wasn’t surrounded by fragile objects. Like fragile humans.

How the hell had she missed that opportunity? How the hell had she not _realised?_ The girl in the rain, trembling underneath the cold Styrian sky as the heavens opened on an already miserable Austrian night – she was Carmilla’s soulmate, the woman she was supposed to be with for the rest of her life. And Carmilla had shoved into her, her mind distracted by a commission and settling everywhere else _but_ the numbers on her arm.

Cold, wet, and deeply pissed off, Carmilla swung open the door of the art shop on the opposite side of Silas to her flat. She heard the slam of the door being nearly thrown off its hinges acutely, even more so than the now terrified cashier. She wasn’t one to care, however. It wasn’t her shop. It was her fury, but it wasn’t her shop.

A detached part of her mused about how easy it was for the numbers she’d seen for 334 years to become something she was suddenly infuriated by. The rest of her was contemplating if ruining an art shop for the sake of her bitterness was worth the thousands of pounds in damage and a very real threat to the shop owner to never speak of it again. On second thought, she believed it not to be – besides, she had to finish this commission by tonight and LaFontaine was getting fed up of making peace pledges with clients Carmilla had already put off work for.

It wasn’t the numbers she was infuriated by, she realised as she peered at different paints and brushes with a suddenly indifferent face – it was the lack of them. She’d waited so long for this moment and now she’d messed it up. She hadn’t got a name, a number, or anything of any worth – except the image of the woman stood there, shivering and still radiating beauty. The poor girl had been soaked down to the very bone, but there had something hypnotic about her. There had been fire in her eyes, untamed by fate. Carmilla decided she liked that in women.

The vampire snatched up her selected utensils and marched over to the counter, ignoring the cashier’s flinch when she slammed the goods down. She’d already calculated the total cost; she paid him with the exact price – nothing more, nothing less. For a moment, she considered giving him extra as a means of apologising for nearly breaking the door. But then she laughed to herself. Meeting her soulmate had been a life-changing event, that much was true, but she wasn’t going to change _that_ much.

The cashier passed her the shopping bag with shaking hands. She took without so much as a parting glance, and stalked out of the shop and into the rain. For the second time that night, the door was almost ripped out of its hinges because of an angry, broody vampire.

The thunder roared again, louder and deeper than before, and the rain poured harder. Carmilla didn’t even deign to shelter herself from it. Had she still been alive, she would’ve been sick of feeling the numbing cold that came with this sort of weather; she could only feel the rain landing on her skin as it launched itself towards the centre of the Earth. If only make-up could be as unaffected.

Carmilla resigned herself to thinking about her soulmate again. In doing so, she suddenly recalled that her soulmate had been talking about something on the phone. She hesitated in her swift stride as she remembered.

 _“I went to the Styria Festival last year; that was one of my first reports with the Herald! Do you remember Kirsch won that_ huge _bear last year?”_

A small smile threatened to surface. Carmilla’s memory couldn’t perfectly replicate the lilt and flutter in the woman’s voice, but it was close enough to elicit such a bizarre thing as a smile, on this night of all nights. At least she knew where her soulmate would be next – reporting at the Styria Festival tomorrow. Carmilla wasn’t a social recluse – far from it, if the girls she’d picked up in this last year counted for anything. She knew of its unfortunate existence. An annual festival that was every bit the quaint, lacking, but very well attended event she’d throw up at the sight of, Carmilla wouldn’t be caught staked there. (LaFontaine had learned that the hard way.) But of course the reporters of the _Silas Herald_ had to be there. And of course her soulmate had to be a fricking journalist.

This, however, was her only lead. The only way she could get to see her soulmate again, bar bumping into her around town. That alternative would be long-winded and cause Carmilla to lose the remaining shreds of her sanity. She wouldn’t do that.

Carmilla sighed to herself. She had a rule of never going to the festival even if her life (or lack thereof) depended on it. But she _supposed_ she could make an exception to that rule.

Just for her. For her soulmate.

* * *

Laura leaned heavily against her father’s kitchen counters, one hand clutching the side while the other hand was holding her mug of coffee, as she watched the final car leave the drive. Had she done that? She’d really done that? Wow. Laura’s mouth pulled into a small smile and she took another sip of her coffee. It wasn’t her usual beverage (Perry, worried for her health, had all too often made remarks about how impossible it was for Laura to survive on her well-known diet of cookies and grape soda), but it was pleasing regardless. She’d only been too grateful when her father had handed her a mug as Great-Aunt Mary had launched into the third conversation of the day about her gardening.

Well, when Laura said she’d _launched_ herself, her great-aunt hadn’t exactly gone at that pace. She’d more… plodded onto it. Slowly, steadily, unflinchingly. That was what Great-Aunt Mary was like. (Actually, the only time she had been eager to move on from something was when Laura had talked about the strange meeting with her soulmate. Laura knew Mary was uncomfortable with the pronouns she’d used for her soulmate, but frankly she didn’t care.)

“Honey, you’re going to drop that,” Laura’s father, James Hollis, informed her as he lumbered into the room. He yawned and stretched. “This is why I don’t have hot drinks.”

He’d been right, of course – it had almost slipped out of her hand. “At the expense of your liver,” Laura grimaced, tightening her grip on her coffee.

He gave her a look – “Laura, I don’t drink like that,” was the accompanying response – while reached for a glass. As he filled it up with water, he added, “Coffee and” – his other hand flitted about – “those things can have all sorts of calories in them, too.”

She nodded, but didn’t give that a response. She didn’t really have one. She’d been in a weird mood ever since last night, ever since meeting her soulmate on that street.

Yeah, her soulmate was gorgeous, there was absolutely no doubt about _that_. But she was also… gone. Unknown. Mysterious. The disappearance of her numbers had been replaced with a big fat question mark, and Laura desperately wanted to answer it. Instead, of course, she’d been stuck with overwhelmingly fussy relatives for most of the day – and professing her worries had only _heightened_ that effect. She’d expected her cousins to be the ones pawing at her hair. Boy, how wrong she was.

Of course Laura would be able to lose her soulmate. And only Laura would be awkward enough - for fear of facing Perry's worried comments - not to ask the girl for _at least_ her phone number before she went off. And now she was never going to find her.

“What would you do if you lost your soulmate?” Laura asked, chewing on her lip.

Her father gazed at her with a soft expression, one she’d seen so many times and one she felt herself collapsing into. She felt so _silly_ – all of her life, all she’d ever known people raving about the time they first met their soulmates. How it had been the perfect moment, how it felt like the world had fallen into place. And all Laura could say was that she’d looked incredible even as the rain poured down around them.

“You haven’t lost her, Laura,” he told her, placing his glass on the counter behind him and moving forward to embrace her. “You found her, but she’s not here right now. That’s not losing her. She’ll come into your life again, kid. I don’t doubt it.”

She frowned. “But – I don’t even know her name. I’d never met her before this.” She leaned her head onto his chest, felt the comfort he always brought.

“What about her… appearance? What did she look like?”

“It was _really_ dark and rainy, I couldn’t exactly count the number of eyelashes she had, Dad,” Laura huffed.

“It’s a relevant question, Laura. Just try and think.”

“Pale, black hair, leather pants, heavy boots,” Laura rattled off her memory. “She had a red plaid blouse on, and… really dark eyes.” _Really_ nice _eyes_ , Laura would’ve added, but her dad didn’t need to know that.

“A punk, then. Wonderful.”

Laura swatted his arm. “ _Dad_ , she’s still meant for me.”

Her father chuckled. “Just kidding, sweetheart. You know I don’t care what she’s like, as long as you’re happy.” He kissed the top of her head and broke off the hug. “Now, am I gonna have to cook for two like old times, or are you gonna desert me too?”

Laura’s worried expression quickly melted into a smile. Yeah, the idea of spending the evening with her dad really wasn’t the worst idea in the world at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	4. Surprise, Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla hadn't thought that finding her soulmate would be such hard work. Kirsch hadn't expected to be roped into this, either.

Okay, so the one thing Kirsch hadn’t expected to happen at the Styria Festival was being ambushed. But who could blame him? There he was, weaving in and out of the quirky little stalls, shivering in his raincoat and making notes – and then suddenly this chick was dragging him into a tent somewhere.

“ _Whoa_ there, hottie!” he yelped. “Clearly you’re happy to see me but I don’t even _kno_ —”

“Are you a reporter for the _Styria Herald_?” she snapped.

Kirsch looked up and down at her. She was tiny compared to him – most people were – and she’d wrapped up in a leather coat (with a hood, damn), ripped black jeans, hair naturally tumbling out of her hood, and a scowl on her face. She was sexy, yeah, but she was angry as hell too. He didn’t really know how to proceed.

“Uh…”

The hottie in front of him honest-to-God _snarled_ and he suddenly found himself saying, “Y-Yeah, I’m a reporter for the newspaper. Laura and I kinda got swapped, so I’m stuck here in the rain—”

“Laura?”

Jesus, she went from 100-0 really quick. That hood didn’t look so ominous any more, and her eyes had lost their fire a bit. (A bit.) She still looked a bit pissed off, though. Wouldn’t it be, like, really bad for your health to be constantly angry?

“You know her?”

“Depends,” the woman drawled in her really deep tone. (Yeah, that was kinda hot too.) “Was she supposed to be here today?”

“Yeah,” Kirsch smiled apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously, “but she had this family thing, I don’t know. She always works on weekdays at the office, and she’ll always try to do something like this, y’know – but, well, she had this, and I had to take over. Thought she was tellin’ Perry on Friday—”

“That’s her,” the girl mumbled to herself.

“Huh?”

She rolled her eyes, and held out her arm. Her numbers had faded – _oh God,_ Kirsch thought to himself, _was she my soulmate?_ He frowned and brought his raincoat up above his elbow to check his own.

The very small and once again very frightening woman sighed, “Not you, dumbass. Laura. She’s my soulmate. I collided into her last night.”

Kirsch’s eyebrows lifted. “Dude, that’s awesome! I’m happy for you both.” He shot her one of his winning smiles – but then he hesitated. “So you don’t know where she is?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Christ.” She regarded him with nothing less than irritation.

“Dude, okay.” Kirsch held up his hands. “You could go and see her in the _Herald_ if you wanna. She and I share the same office and everything. She works late, too.”

She nodded to herself; Kirsch made that a small, personal victory. “Well, this has been a joyous occasion, but I realised I have to be anywhere but here.”

The scary hottie adjusted her hood and vanished, leaving Kirsch – well, stumped. Man, he was _totally_ gonna have to tell Laura about this. She’d be so happy that whatever-her-name-was was looking for her. Shame she didn’t stick around, though.

Kirsch brushed a few droplets off his watch and peered at the time. Crap, he was going to be late for the main music event. Kirsch flung his raincoat hood back on and dashed back out, his mind at once on the pelting rain and the job he was so grateful he had kept.

* * *

 

So, as expeditions go, that wasn’t _entirely_ a failure.

Despite the fact that her soulmate had bunked off reporting, Carmilla had got useful information from the ridiculous, overgrown ex-frat boy Laura worked with. She knew her name, when she worked, and who she worked with. It wasn’t much, granted, but it was still something.

Therefore, Carmilla’s best bet was to hang around in the mornings and evenings (when the Sun wasn’t out), with the hope of running into her. That meant being up in the day, which was never pleasant – but Carmilla had already committed to this. She couldn’t back down now.

She reached the apartment building and immediately turned to the elevators when – _oh, joy_ – she saw LaFontaine and Perry were in the elevator, rabbiting on about some domestic matter Carmilla had neither the patience nor the desire to listen to.

“Hey, Karnstein,” LaFontaine greeted her, putting a smile on their face while Perry chewed on her lip. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Now is not the time for jokes.” Carmilla punched her floor number in the pad and slumped against the back wall of the elevator.

“It’s _always_ the time for—uhum. You look pretty… drenched.”

“Went for a run.” Carmilla disliked the idea of more people knowing of her inability to keep her damn soulmate.

“I would believe that if it wasn’t 3pm, Carmilla,” LaFontaine responded, raising their voice slightly to compensate for the hum of the elevator starting. “You’re hiding something.”

Carmilla heaved a sigh. “I doubt the chances of the pair of you knowing a Laura who works at the _Styria Herald_ are very high, so there’s nothing to talk about.”

The box of plants Perry had been hugging nearly fell from her grasp. “Laura Hollis?”

_So, she does have a surname._

“Perry’s her boss,” LaF supplied.

“Of course,” Carmilla groaned. “I need to talk to her.”

“What about?”

Carmilla just stared at LaFontaine, one sculpted eyebrow raised. They’d been there last night; surely they knew. Jesus, she was surrounded by incompetent dimwits. (At least LaF was marginally tolerable, even _if_ they had a brain like a sieve.)

The elevator glided to a halt; the doors opened as it dinged. This was Perry and LaF’s floor. Perry, who had suddenly burst back to life, grabbed her partner’s hand and rushed, “We can talk another time, come on!”

“I’ll see you tonight,” LaFontaine promised Carmilla, with a very determined face.

Carmilla barely suppressed an eye roll and looked away. The doors slid shut and the elevator started moving again.

* * *

 

It took Carmilla three days to find her soulmate again.

By the end of it, Carmilla was debating giving up entirely, and if these past five attempts counted for anything, then she was never going to find Laura.

The first day, she’d overslept. When she jumped awake, the Sun had already started to rise. Carmilla had refrained from crushing the glass of blood she’d consumed when she’d got up, knowing that she still had another chance to meet Laura later. So, instead of going back to sleep, she’d seen the ever-growing pile of art she needed to finish and resolved to get at least _some_ of it done.

The rest of the day, she had sat in her studio, the lights bright and the blinds closed, as she let her hands do the work. Truthfully, it was the only way that Carmilla could calmly pass the time – barring reading. But she didn’t count that; that hobby didn’t achieve the same feeling of accomplishment as creating art did.

It was one of the only things that had got her through her last years of being in the _Lophiiformes_ clan. When she’d had a quiet moment to herself, she’d draw. That hadn’t been often, because she’d had to live with the rest of the clan. For the first few times, after she’d lost herself in the art, the others would intrude and steal her drawings from her; they’d cut her down for it, for not following clan rules like she should. When Will had been turned, he’d been only too eager to resurrect this event – but by that time, Carmilla’s reputation as Mother’s original diamond girl and the only slightly rebellious vampire in the clan had faded.

Her drawings were a different kind of escape. They left her creatively satisfied afterwards, having gone to a whole other place through them with no inhibitions. There had been no other feeling like it, and she doubted there would ever be.

In the quiet moments of being in the clan, when civilisation had gone to sleep and the rest of the clan cared not for her presence, she could be herself again. And afterwards, when she established herself in Silas – one of her mother’s old hunting grounds, and a place Carmilla knew her Mother would not return to – she immediately turned to her art skills as a way to settle into this new life. The process had been simple, painless; she’d employed LaFontaine and promoted herself to publishers (though as time had gone on, LaFontaine had done more of that for her). The commissions had started rolling in (it appeared Carmilla had hit a niche); Carmilla couldn’t have been more satisfied with the way it had turned out.

Yes, she’d escaped for good now. The future actually looked positive now, and providing the _Lophiiformes_ clan did not return to Silas, the days of her dark past were finally behind her.

So she’d spent the first day painting for a horror story – Carmilla revelled in the content; her character naturally allowed her to excel at the darker side of art – and only when the sunlight behind her blinds had started to diminish did she resurface. She’d packed up and left, bringing her red plaid shirt with her at the last minute. It was all to no avail – Carmilla had not been familiar with the street the _Styria Herald_ was on and found it only too late. It had been deserted.

The next day, Carmilla had beat the sun and rose before light had begun to seep through the Earth’s atmosphere. It was later in the morning, as Styria was still in the beginning of winter, and that had given Carmilla more time to wait for Laura. And yet, Laura had been later that day – Carmilla had glimpsed the annoying ex-frat boy in the car as she’d started to walk back. The Sun was starting to bleed through the sky again.

Damn it. How hard was it to meet her soulmate again? They’d better meet soon, because otherwise Carmilla would no longer be accountable for her actions.

In the evening, LaFontaine had dragged her to a meeting with a client – the author with the horror story. Carmilla had barely spoken, instead preferring to fix the client with a death stare while she sipped from her can. It had only been after the meeting that LaFontaine had forced Carmilla to tell them what was wrong and why she’d been disappearing in the mornings and evenings. Seeing Carmilla’s expression, LaF had scampered back to their flat, saving themselves from the backlash they were sure to get.

The third day rolled into existence. Carmilla had stayed up, not bothering to fall asleep after most of the night had passed. She’d grabbed her red plaid shirt again, hopped into her leather pants, and headed out before light. There she waited, lounging around outside the _Styria Herald_ and anticipating the cars arriving.

It wasn’t to be that morning. The car didn’t arrive until after Carmilla had gone, her patience almost dissipated completely.

 _One more try, Mircalla_ , she told herself. _God knows you’re going to have to try one more time._

Carmilla persevered. Her mere existence proved that. And although she had been trying to see Laura for too long now, she couldn’t give up. She’d given up before, and that still rattled unpleasantly through her system every single day.

Laura wasn’t Ell, Carmilla was certain. Carmilla couldn’t give this chance up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	5. Second Time Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura perhaps should have realised the truth in the phrase "It's a small world." And Carmilla didn't deviate from being her usual broody gay self.

Perhaps staying up into the early hours of the morning hadn't been a particularly good idea – not if it meant being _spectacularly_ late for work the next day. As soon as Laura’s eyes flew open in a sudden burst of panicked consciousness, she knew she was so late that other people wouldn't have bothered going into work at all.

Laura couldn't help sleeping late; had she stayed up only 3 hours longer (and she _had_ been debating that), she would've seen the sunlight starting to seep through her blinds and reflect onto her computer screen. Considering how late it was in the year, it meant she’d got little sleep even after submitting her article. The hours she still had to work were going to kill her (especially because she had to get an article typed up on top of this one for, like, yesterday).

Laura emitted the loudest groan ever heard by mankind and groggily rolled out of bed, willing herself to wake up quickly. Walking into the kitchen door frame a minute later clearly meant she didn't succeed.

Right. There was a door there. Okay. Good.

(Her head was still following the floor plan of the old house. She’d have to get used to this new one now.)

She couldn't even give that good a reason for being late, either. It wasn't like she could rock up to the office and breezily tell Perry, “Sorry I’m late, I overslept. Yesterday evening I spent all my time binge-watching TV shows with my ex-almost girlfriend and I spent the rest of the night and the early hours of the morning writing your article. Here you go!”

If her lateness didn't get her fired, that would.

Danny’s meet up had been the first in a long time (Danny had been over in the US for quite some time – and apparently she hadn't taken the sort of break up very well), but it was less awkward than Laura had expected. So that was great, of course. But that wasn't a legitimate excuse, not really; she shouldn't have forgotten about her article.

 _At least_ , Laura thought as she rushed to brush her teeth, one eye still closed out of pure tiredness, _at least I’m never usually late. Except for Kirsch’s shenanigans, and that’s only recent. So I’m alright, I think. Maybe._

Kirsch – well, Kirsch had been Kirsch, and found himself drastically cutting short his attempt to cheer his sister Jordanna up by tumbling. (Jordanna had really needed it at first, but obviously that had been forgotten when he’d fallen to the ground, cursing everything under the sun as his foot started throbbing agonisingly.) Because of this, Kirsch’s recovery had all but stalled – and as Laura’s car share was still on, she took extra care when escorting him to and from places.

So, yeah. Laura had a small chance at keeping her job. A small one. Nevertheless, it was still a chance that Laura had to take. The resultant hurricane that she had become left her a little dizzy (boy, she _really_ needed to wake up properly), but she’d packed everything she needed and she looked half-decent with her black trousers, white top (decorated with little giraffes all over) and black suit jacket combo. She nodded herself to the mirror; she was good enough. She could do this.

Laura determinedly drove quickly to Kirsch’s house, nearly edging over the speed limit. (Kirsch had sent her tons of concerned messages and called her, so at least he knew she was okay, just super late.) She felt bad for leaving Kirsch waiting on her. His job chances shouldn't be scuppered because of her, too. Mercifully, the traffic was practically absent – and although that meant Laura didn't get to sing along to her favourite One Direction album for very long, she did get to her best friend’s house quicker. Kirsch’s face lit up when he saw her, and he very slowly made his way over to the car. Only when he sat down inside, pain flitting over his face before he returned to normal, did he talk to her.

“Did you find your soulmate?” he blurted out eagerly. (Laura, naturally, had told him everything.)

It took Laura a few seconds to process that Kirsch had asked her a question, but she got there. She really needed to stay awake. “No,” she yawned as she clambered in. “I don’t know where to start. I was going to ask LaFontaine to see if they knew her, but obviously they've not been around. And Perry’s been occupied this week with the Styria Festival, too. So…” she shrugged. “I haven’t been able to ask. Do you think they would know her?”

“Doubt it,” Kirsch grimaced. His expression immediately changed to a perplexed one, however. “She fit LaF’s description of their boss when I saw her, though. But I know, like, ten hot dark-haired chicks, so it’s probably just a coincidence. Sorry, bro.”

Laura frowned at him. Her feet were on standby, resting on the car’s pedals – but she hadn't turned the ignition on. Kirsch’s words had made her stall. “You met her?”

Something dawned across the man’s face – a mixture of surprise, realisation and regret. Then he cursed, “I swear, I was going to tell you. _Damn_ it.” His eyes flitted down to his foot and his brows knitted together. “She was at the Festival, only for a short while. She talked to me about you, but then she went and I had the Festival to get back to. And then the band were _epic_ , and then Jordanna got depressed again… and it just slipped outta my brain.”  His eyes were round and wretched. “Dude, I’m really sorry, I know it was important.”

Laura reached out to him and patted his leg with her hand. “Kirsch, it’s okay, I don’t mind,” she smiled encouragingly. (He could be so harsh on himself sometimes, and Laura didn't like that one bit.) Afterwards, as she started the car and moved off Kirsch’s drive, she allowed the excitement to creep back into her voice. “I just want to know what she’s like, that’s all. What’s her name? Did you catch it? Did she tell you?”

“Didn't get a name. Didn't tell me anything about herself,” Kirsch recalled. “She was just really focused on meeting you. Like, _really_ focused.”

Laura’s concentration on the road slipped slightly. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” she grinned. Actually, she was flattered that her soulmate had gone to such lengths to about this. On the contrary, Laura hadn't done much more than brood about it, and that was something she didn't tend to do that much at all.

Kirsch shrugged. “I don’t know, she… kinda wasn't civil, just demanding. Looked a bit pissed off. I don’t blame her, Laur – you got shelter from all that _rain_. You got so lucky.”

Laura laughed. Shaking her head as the car swung into another road at the last second, she responded, “Unless you like getting pounced on by your older relatives who should know better, I don’t think you’d call me _lucky_.” As homely and caring as her relatives were, she could see where her dad got his overprotectiveness from. By comparison, Dad seemed laid-back. Which was something she never thought she’d say.

“I love my relatives! They’re the _best_ at giving presents at Christmas. Seriously, bro, you shoulda seen what they got me when I was younger…” From that, Kirsch launched into an enthusiastic monologue that lasted the rest of the car journey. Laura was thankful for that; she listened, and joined in a bit, but it gave her time to become a fully-functioning human being again.

Kirsch’s current situation meant that they were in the office ten minutes later than Laura would've liked, but that was a small matter in comparison to the real-world equivalent of a Howler they were bound to receive – if not from Perry, then from one of the management team. As the elevator pinged to announce their arrival to their floor, the wish to live in Hogwarts so she could cast a memory spell on the management team flashed through her mind. It wasn't the first time Laura had wished that the wizarding world was real (because, come on, _magic_ ), and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

“Laura!” was the first word she heard as the doors slid open. It was Perry in her sing-song voice. Wait… she wasn't – she wasn't mad? She was tight-lipped, Laura could see, but she wasn't furious like Laura had expected her to be.

She started to wonder if magic _was_ real, after all.

“Morning, Perry!” Kirsch beamed, starting to move himself away from the elevator with his crutches.

This brought Laura back to her senses; she jumped into action, walking alongside Kirsch to make sure he didn't catch either of his feet on anything. “Yes, yes, good morning!” Laura seconded. “You… wanted me for something?”

Perry nodded, but didn't press the issue any further. As the three walked together – passing row and row of chrome-plated offices full of journalists and artists either lounging around on the black plush lounge seats or working hard on their oak desks – Perry chattered about the articles still needed from Laura. However, Laura noticed that she was distracted. Perry was usually very direct; today her sentences kept trailing off, and she picked them up with a new train of thought. If she was honest, Laura wasn't fully listening, but the inflection in Perry’s voice communicated more to her than the words did.

It was only when they reached Laura and Kirsch’s office – the office for Community Events – that Perry abridged her worries. Well, sort of. “Look, Laura, there’s been some news that LaFontaine and I want to tell you, and I don’t want you to get too distracted by it today because you _do_ have that article on the talks from the Bundespolizei in our schools and that’s already overdue. So—”

Kirsch opened the door by shoving backwards into it – no, stumbling backwards into it, as LaF had already started opening the door – and trying to regain his balance. Perry caught him, just as LaFontaine exclaimed excitedly, “L, we found your soulmate!”

 _Whoa_ , okay. Laura had been thinking along the lines of an upcoming child in the LaFontaine/Perry household – but this? Yeah, that wasn't expected. Laura nearly dropped her bag of notes and research in shock. “Sorry?” she uttered.

“Yeah, she’s my boss!” LaF beamed. “Carmilla Karnstein, nocturnal artist and full-time grump.”

“Full-time grump?” Laura repeated. Well, then.

LaFontaine brushed it aside as they sat down on one of the black chairs in the room, nearly knocking a plant over on the way. “Yeah, but she’s got a heart in there somewhere. Don’t worry about that too much.” As they collapsed onto the seat, they added with a glint in their eye, “Besides, you’re clearly a special lady to her. You’ll see much more than her permanent frown.”

“LaFontaine, I’m not sure that’s the way to describe someone’s soulmate,” Perry chastised, letting go of Kirsch now the reveal was over with. She shuffled over to sit down next to LaFontaine and hold their hand, while Kirsch lowered himself into his chair at his desk. Laura was still stood in the doorway as a giddy excitement washed over her. “I’m sure you two will get on like a house on fire. She’s your soulmate, after all. You can be opposites and still work in the most beneficial way possible.” At this, LaFontaine and Perry shared an endearing look, eyes brimming with love and acceptance.

 _That’s what I’m going to have_ , Laura thought to herself. _I’m going to have that soon._ A smile spread across her lips then – small at first, but wider and wider, until a small laugh escaped her mouth at her own giddiness.

She didn't know when she was going to meet Carmilla, but she _did_ know that Perry was going to be otherwise disappointed with her today - because there wasn't a chance that she would be able to concentrate on her article now.

* * *

 

For a while, Carmilla could pretend that nothing really existed.

It was just a silly game, one she wasn't aching to play now she had been freed from the chains of her mother’s clan. But it passed the time, and took her back to the place where she’d clung on to hope like a child clings onto its parents. She hated the idea of being dependent on someone, something, anything – but it hadn't stopped her clinging onto silly little games and drawings that somehow meant everything to her to make things a little more bearable.

In that time, this game was what was needed. Blissful nothingness – no clan, no obligation, no Carmilla. No forced feeding on people who she didn't care for but didn't really feel like killing either, no forced “special” hatred for vampires she just disliked like everyone else. There was no one to expect her to swear allegiance to a routine she never stuck to, to get along with insufferable vampires she had to call family.

Her eyes closed and she saw blood vessels wasted. Her eyes closed and she shoved away the world, just to delight in its absence.

A year on, she was grateful that she’d got out. She didn't need to play that game anymore. She had different obligations now – that horror story author had come back with another book for her, and she didn't fear any repercussions for misbehaving now, except perhaps getting in trouble with the law – but they didn't threaten to asphyxiate her like the previous ones. No, these were bearable for her, and came with rewards instead of punishments. She was finished with punishments. She wouldn't have anything to do with them, not when she’d had more than her fair share of them in her few first centuries of existence.

The dark had settled upon Silas like a blanket, cocooning it in steely cold air and an always unexplained menace. Carmilla had often heard humans describe Silas as a “creepy place with many mysterious things going on”; she, undoubtedly, was one such mysterious thing, had been one such mysterious thing a hundred years ago. She wasn't the only one here, she knew, but at least Silas had accepted her. She wouldn't be able to say the same for the clan she had once belonged to if they returned here. (She’d made sure of that.)

The menace and the bitter air comforted her as much as the dark did. It made her seem normal, allowed her to live a decent existence in peace. Every swish the residents of Silas heard from the trees could easily be taken for the prowling of a shape-shifter of some sort (either one Carmilla had had the displeasure of meeting or not); every call in the night could be from predators waiting on their next human-sized meal.

Such things were usually the stuff of nightmares. Carmilla benefited from that presumption.

The tree on the opposite side of the road to her, where she leaned on the fence of the _Styria Herald_ parking lot, was a willow tree. It was a tenacious tree – it refused to die conventionally or indeed at all. The wind breathed life into it, even now; its branches flowed and dipped with its life force, as the street lights nearest to the tree cast ghostly shadows on it. If a passer-by peered at it in a certain way, they would swear they could see a body swaying from the rope-like branches.

Carmilla knew it was a play on imagination, but there had been a woman hanged on the exact place where the tree now grew. Austria had succumbed to the witch craze of that age, too, like most countries in the Europe of the Middle Ages. Carmilla had only heard Mother speak of it, however; she had never seen it herself. It had served a purpose, like everything her mother did. _Look at what these humans are capable of_ , Mother had said. _They are so primitive, and so capable of terrible things. That could've been you, my dearest child. How can you say they do not deserve to die the way we have granted their deaths for aeons now? When they would do that to you with even the suspicion of what you truly are?_

Her mother was wrong. Carmilla knew that now, that she had three hundred years of experience and rationality behind her opinion. No, they did not. There were few people who walked on this earth that Carmilla would consider saving should they get into trouble. That, nonetheless, was enough for her to prove that humankind could still be somewhat decent.

And her soulmate, she hoped, would further prove this.

LaFontaine had keenly told her all they knew about Laura, though they didn't know that much. Carmilla had been sketching then, so she didn't take in everything they’d relayed, but she knew enough not to be meeting a complete stranger when she did eventually meet her.

Laura was in her early twenties, LaF had presumed, having graduated university quite easily. Her father and she had lived alone. She was smaller than Carmilla, but had “a _huge_ grin if you do even the smallest nice thing for her. L’s pretty sweet like that.”

Carmilla had tensed up at LaFontaine use of the nickname, but she knew they didn't mean Carmilla’s lost love. She knew that. She didn't know why she still reacted to that.

LaF had coughed uncomfortably and carried on. They went on to say that she was brilliant at journalism, she really loved her job. Her curiosity could be satisfied by nothing except the truth, and in that way she was a bit stubborn. But that was, apparently, what made Laura so loveable. She had a kind of determination LaFontaine had only seen Perry match when LaF dirtied the flat with their experiments.

So. Small. Smiley. The human equivalent of a teddy bear. Oh, and she was stubborn too.

This would be interesting.

Carmilla’s train of thought was interrupted by a far-off sound of someone closing a door. Carmilla immediately perked up and came away from the fence; that came from the _Styria Herald_. Was that Laura? She didn't know. She hoped she found out soon.

She checked her watch; it was fairly late. The injured puppy boy Laura worked with had said she worked late, and she couldn't think of anyone else who would still be in the building, barring the security guards. But she’d got used to their scents anyway. This one was much, _much_ sweeter.

(Even though Carmilla had grabbed Kirsch and dragged him away to interrogate him at the Styria Festival, she hadn't forgotten about his broken leg – because the last thing she wanted was the dead body of someone who knew her soulmate on her hands. She just hoped her consideration for the ex-frat boy would actually pay off.)

She made her way over to the parking lot, watched as the person hopped over to one of the only cars left in the parking lot. Luckily, it was the one Carmilla had chosen to lean against. As the person got closer, she could see who it was.

It was her. It was Laura. And – Carmilla allowed her eyes to wander down her soulmate’s stature – yes, she was small and extremely cute. Suits seemed to suit Laura. Especially ones with back pockets, where Laura had just slid her phone into.

Yeah, she’d chosen the right girl.

“Evening, cupcake,” she called out, and smirked as Laura stopped in her tracks. Evidently, she’d been in her own little world. But now this was the real world. They really were meeting again, after days of waiting impatiently for this moment.

Laura shuffled closer, her eyes roaming over Carmilla shyly. With anyone else, Carmilla would've felt a little irritated. She gave Laura this moment, though. She was, after all, looking at someone whom she expected to spend the rest of her life with.

She remembered how different their situations were. How Laura’s life was minuscule in comparison to hers. Her heart clamped uncomfortably at the mere thought.

No. She shook her head, an action gone unseen by the other woman. Not now.

“Carmilla,” Laura breathed. Her face had gone from a picture of complete surprise to an expression of warmth. The smile, the shine in her eyes reflecting the street light… everything was warm. Carmilla couldn't help but think about how she basked in the cold as a comparison. “It’s really you.”

“Apparently it is,” she responded drily, bringing her hand up to pick at her nails. “Took you long enough, didn't it?”

Laura immediately became nervous, her hands flirting up everywhere as she spoke. “I just – I don’t – I didn't know who you were or _anything_ , I didn't even have a—”

“Relax, cutie, it was a joke,” Carmilla chuckled. In a sudden movement, she rolled her back off the car and glided towards her soulmate. She noticed Laura was shivering in the winter air. “You should get in the warmth, princess, or you’re gonna shake all of those clothes off. Though I wouldn't complain about that.”

Laura wrapped her arms around herself and snorted. “Flirting already,” she whispered under her breath. “I appreciate your concern, but, honestly, I’m fine. I promise.” Laura’s eyebrows furrowed together ever so slightly in her confused amusement. “How are _you_ not cold? Look at you, you've got a top and shorts and – and _knee socks_ on.” Laura swallowed, a reaction definitely noticed by the other woman there. “How have you not got hypothermia?”

Carmilla shrugged indifferently. “Magic,” she offered. She’d rather not get into the vampire conversation yet. That question could wait, and so could the much-anticipated reaction.

Laura just stared at her, eyebrows raised, but she decided not to press it further. Then Carmilla gazed at her curiously while Laura’s face tightened into one of confusion and embarrassment. She looked like she was about to say something, but… didn't.

“Spit it out, princess. Some of us don’t like to see the sun rise before you ask your questions.”

Laura’s marginally open mouth snapped shut again as her gaze pierced Carmilla. “Will you ever call me Laura?”

A smirk was etched on Carmilla’s face, but she didn't gift Laura with an answer.

“Obviously _not_ , then,” Laura muttered, clearly affected by Carmilla’s lack of answer.

Carmilla had to admit, the way Laura reacted was curiously fascinating to her. When Ell had been around in Carmilla’s life, she hadn't quite wanted to study her like this. She’d simply adored her, the idea of her. That had left little room for anything more profound such as this.

Laura was clearly an open book. Given the right actions, Carmilla could turn the pages and discover more of her story. She was looking forward to doing that.

“My real question was: what do we do with this whole _soulmates_ thing?” Laura broke into a nervous smile. “Because I don’t know about you, but this really isn't a usual thing for me. And I want to do it correctly and not mess this up, you know, but I have a habit of—”

“Then let’s start simple,” Carmilla interrupted, sauntering so close to Laura that she could hear the smaller girl’s short breaths. She reached into Laura’s back pocket and produced her phone. Swiping across, Carmilla typed her phone number into Laura’s phone (she saved it under _The One You’re Hot_ _For_ ), and felt the pride swim through her at the sight of the flustered expression on her soulmate’s face. That image wasn't going to be leaving her consciousness if she could help it. “We should go out sometime,” she suggested, still in Laura’s immediate proximity, as she slowly slid the phone back in Laura’s back pocket. “For coffee, or for whatever menial past time you prefer to spend your time doing. Just call me, cupcake, and I’ll come.” She gave Laura a lopsided smile and turned away to walk home again.

“Wa-Wait, you’re just going to _go_? Like _that_?” Laura stuttered. “Aren't you at least going to tell me something about you? I just – I only know your name.” She considered this for a split second. “And your job.”

Carmilla turned back, raised a lazy eyebrow at her. “Well, I have to keep some of my secrets. Otherwise I’ll lose my air of mystery, won’t I?”

With that, Carmilla gave her a wink, and vanished.


	6. The Book of Dashed Hopes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla's problems might not have been quite as resolved as she'd previously thought - just in time for it to have collided with seeing Laura, of course. But she'd be damned if they were going to affect her soulmate.

Carmilla wasn’t particularly pleased that LaFontaine interrupted her moment of peace, barging into the studio with the words, “So, Casanova, how many times has she called you already?”

Carmilla lowered the paintbrush in her hand and gave a little snarl. Her current project was merely artwork for strengthening her portfolio; she was consequently marginally less irritated that she had to leave her creative flow temporarily. But if this had been a commission, then LaFontaine would be lucky to keep their eyeballs.

“LaFontaine, it appears you’re currently not using your eyes,” Carmilla told them. “I’m busy. Go away.”

“Can’t,” LaFontaine grimaced. “I’m contractually obliged to pester you for as long as possible.”

The vampire gave a short bark for a laugh. “You’re contractually obliged not to be annoying as hell and interrupt my creative process.”

“You hired me, Karnstein,” LaF shrugged, clearly not fazed by Carmilla’s biting tone.

“I’m starting to regret it.” She dabbed her brush at the iris again, trying to focus on her picture and seeing every speck, every detail, on the canvas.

She’d almost got it right when LaFontaine spoke again. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

 _Am I ever going to get this fucking painting done?_ Carmilla growled exasperatedly in her head.

She slammed her paintbrush down on the little platform next to her that held all of her paints. “ _Fine_ ,” she spat, turning around on her stool to glare at LaFontaine. LaF was looking at her with an amused expression on their face, arms folded and leaning against the door frame of the studio. Their red jacket (a new addition to their wardrobe, probably) stood out against the overwhelming white of the studio, as did their hair. But in a way, they also complemented the room.

While Carmilla considered the entirety of her flat’s décor to be minimalist, this was the one room that really took minimalism to heart. It was a large room (one of the reasons why she’d purchased the flat), filled with nothing but a desk, her stool, her compact movable table, and a canvas. The walls were painted white. The wooded floor had been painted white. The ceiling was the same chalk white as the cushioning on her stool, and the desk was the same chrome colour as her movable table and the small chandelier that Carmilla had purchased on impulse for this room. The chandelier held bright bulbs, carefully selected to bring as natural-looking a light to the room as possible; the off-white blinds on the huge windows dominating the left-hand wall prevented most of the sunlight from seeping through into the room. There were no pictures, no sculptures, just the art she’d created placed at the centre of the room on the canvas, or strewn across the span of her desk. They were what mattered. Carmilla had little time for anything else, especially in an important room such as this.

 LaFontaine was not going to back down, that much she knew. There was no point in trying to paint in sharp tranquillity. “She’s phoned me once or twice. Is that enough to make you leave me alone?”

Laura had actually phoned Carmilla three times over the course of the week, all for different reasons. The first time, Laura had been driven up the wall by proof-reading her article on the Bundespolizei holding talks in Styrian schools (“That sounds like a barrel of laughs,” Carmilla had commented, which had prompted Laura to give Carmilla a lengthy monologue why it _was_ interesting and important and gratifying), and so had called Carmilla for a much-needed break. Carmilla, at that time, had been enjoying a night out – though it had become less enjoyable when a clingy ex-fling of hers had started vying for her attention. Carmilla, therefore, was quite relieved to sit down somewhere and chat with Laura for an hour or so. Laura’s voice distracted her, prevented the fling from coming near Carmilla, and had provided a much more amusing form of entertainment. Plus, she’d got the chance to push a few of Laura’s buttons and make her flustered, which humoured the vampire more than she’d expected.

The second time, Laura rang her by mistake. She’d planned to call a local plumber after failing to fix the problem herself, but her finger had slipped and Carmilla had picked up before she’d realised. Carmilla had just started getting to sleep, but picked it up anyway – it _was_ Laura, after all – and didn’t take it personally when Laura explained it had been a mistake. When Laura had started chatting like it was nobody’s business anyway, Carmilla had reminded her, and Laura had simply replied, “ _I’d prefer to spend my morning talking to my grumpy soulmate than to a stranger, Carm._ ” And Carmilla had appreciated that.

(She’d always detested it when people called her “Carm”, or any nickname – she used to whack Will over the head when he said it – but somehow it just worked when Laura said it. Evidently, she was getting soft.)

The third time, it had been to plan the coffee meet-up. It was just a quick phone call – just one before Laura went to sleep – and it didn’t really have much in it except details of the meet-up and excited tremors in both of their voices. So Carmilla didn’t really count that one, not when the other two had warmed her non-existent heart more. They were just so… _Laura_.

She barely knew this girl and yet she was being soft at the mere thought of her. Carmilla wondered if she’d been taken over by a zombifying parasite, causing her to be pod-peopled. This wasn’t usual for her.

Caring for others wasn’t unusual for Carmilla – though she was often loathe to show it – but warming up to someone this quickly disconcerted her.

“When are you two going to meet up?” LaFontaine persisted. “A person can only take so many speculative conversations about a certain vamp they know.”

“Thursday. I don’t suppose you’ve told Laura, have you?” Carmilla wondered. LaFontaine had had to know when Carmilla had hired her; she’d been impressed by LaF being completely unperturbed by that. Carmilla, however, was yet to tell Laura. Simply put, she was dreading that moment.

LaFontaine shook their head. “Your secret’s safe with me, boss.” They turned to leave – when suddenly they remembered the unprinted books and documents in their hands. “Oh! You have a few more commissions, by the way. Your inbox can’t stay dry for long when you’re this good.”

Carmilla gave a resigned sigh. She stood up and hauled her artwork off the canvas (she only realised she’d been painting an abstract picture of a person with honey-brown hair when she properly looked at it, removed from the sharp focus she’d been immersed in), while LaF made their way over to the black-haired illustrator.

“This book’s quite good; I’ve read it,” LaFontaine chatted, handing over the sheets of paper. “The author said he’d like to have an anchor or something, maybe? To represent the obligation all the characters are under. Just do your magic and get to it, Karnstein. I’ll be back later.”

Carmilla laughed humourlessly to herself. She knew all about obligation. _What a happy coincidence_ , she remarked drily in her mind.

LaFontaine had gone now, the echoes of their footsteps fading to nothing. Carmilla leafed through the other commissions, immediately rendered unwilling by their requests. Same old, same old. Humans could get so repetitive sometimes. Finally, she checked the book LaFontaine had been talking so positively about – and nearly dropped the papers on the floor, her whole body trembling.

 _Not a coincidence. Not a coincidence._ Carmilla’s eyes roamed over the first page of the unprinted book, feeling the words burn into her mind.

_CARELESS ESCAPE by WILL LUCE._

_Dedicated to my friend and long-time muse, Carmilla Karnstein._

* * *

 

Maybe Laura had done something wrong. Maybe she’d instigated this too quickly. All she knew was that instead of having the same carefree conversations they’d had previously, Carmilla was distant. She kept biting her lip (which Laura was having a hard time trying not to focus on) and nodding distractedly.

She’d made the effort to compensate for Carmilla’s lack of talking, and had launched into a story about Kirsch getting stuck up a tree trying to rescue a cat. Carmilla had smirked in all the right places (which was her substitute for a laugh, Laura was quickly learning), but Laura still wasn’t 100% certain that Carmilla was listening. So she tested her theory out.

“…and Kirsch was trembling like – pineapples,” she put in suddenly without any hesitation, and waited for Carmilla’s reaction.

It was surprisingly very quick. Carmilla quirked up an eyebrow. “Like pineapples?” she repeated, sucking on her coffee’s straw (with added strawberry syrup, apparently, though Laura had never thought she was the type of person to do that).

Right. So that theory had been proved wrong, then.

“Just wanted to make sure you were listening,” Laura responded nonchalantly. “You… you looked kind of distracted.”

Carmilla adjusted the lapels of her sleeveless leather jacket absent-mindedly and commented, “It’s still not enough to stop me hearing about the antics of your idiot friend.”

“Kirsch is not an idiot,” Laura protested, roughly banging down her coffee on the table in a show of indignation. “He’s really caring!”

“If only his intelligence was in abundance as well,” Carmilla responded, rolling her eyes before focusing on her black painted nails.

“Hey, don’t be mean, Carm,” Laura pouted. When Kirsch had described Carmilla as “uncivil”, she hadn’t expected it on this level. Carmilla could be really quite rude sometimes. But… it wasn’t something Laura couldn’t manage. Her soulmate had never reserved those sort of words for her, anyway, and anything close to that was just her teasing.

It was just part of who Carmilla was. Like Laura’s sense of adventure that got her and Kirsch into all sorts of trouble. Or Danny’s athletic aspirations that waited on nothing.

(Danny had been a bit quiet about her trip to the international competition since her return, which had surprised Laura. She suspected the almost break up was a factor, but Laura hadn’t thought that it would have that much of an effect on her friend. The thing they’d had had run its course, and both had got over it eventually. They could talk about it now. So – yeah, this really did puzzle her.)

“You can tell me if anything’s happened, you know,” Laura shrugged. “I mean, we’ve known each other for a week now, but you’re still my friend and you’re still my soulmate. You’re allowed to tell me these things, Carmilla.”

Carmilla’s eyes flickered back up to her, and her hard expression immediately softened. “I don’t expect you to understand,” she responded heavily. “It’s a lot for you to get your head around.”

“That’s what I’m here, to try and understand,” Laura offered. Something in her was itching to reach out and comfort Carmilla, maybe with a hand over hers. But Carmilla might not have wanted that.

The other lady sat up all of a sudden, shook her head. “Let’s just – let’s just forget it ever happened. Besides, I’m sure you’re dying to tell me how you got the manchild down from quivering in his tree.”

Laura frowned. Her soulmate really was a mystery and a half. “Carmilla.”

Carmilla obviously knew this wasn’t anything about her way of mentioning Kirsch. “Cupcake.” Her head was titled down and crooked, staring back at Laura.

Laura dropped it. Carmilla was as stubborn as she was. “You can always—”

“I’m perfectly aware. Now, I’m assuming you _did_ rescue the ex-frat boy, didn’t you?”

Now it was time for Laura to roll her eyes. “Well, _duh_. Otherwise you wouldn’t have met him.” She jumped back into her story, pausing only to take a sip of her coffee or to watch Carmilla’s reaction.

And Carmilla was definitely more attentive now. She watched Laura as she spoke, commented on the more ridiculous parts of the story (which _were_ true, but Laura still had to convince the other lady of that), and snorting in derision whenever she was amused. The conversation quickly evolved, as well; pretty soon Carmilla and Laura were challenging each other to tell each the most shocking or embarrassing facts about themselves. Carmilla won that particular challenge hands down.

“Where do you find all the time to _do_ all of that?” Laura wondered, finally draining her coffee dry. The night had settled now, the hours having flown by. Outside of the window, college kids were pacing about, pranking each other and doing other equally stupid things. Laura watched them for a few moments and smiled, remembering her own college days. How innocent she’d been, how full of life.

“I have my ways,” Carmilla answered vaguely, bringing Laura back to the present. When Laura met her eyes again, there was a small smile painted on her porcelain face. Laura was suddenly struck by her beauty, the majesty in how she spoke and composed herself. Carmilla could come off as someone who’d seen everything, especially when saying vague sentences like _that_. It seemed to make her more compelling, somehow.

Carmilla stared back at her, intensely but not in a way that was uncomfortable. Neither could really look away.

“You’ll have to show me one day,” Laura heard herself saying. “That’d be good for getting my articles in on time.”

“You’re not so good at that, are you, sweetheart?” was the response, a cheeky smirk on her soulmate's endlessly smooth face. “Tell me, what time did you finish that Bundespolizei article?”

Laura blushed, embarrassed. “3am,” she muttered. Both knew that wasn’t good at all for an aspiring journalist. “But you distracted me, so that was _your_ fault!”

“If you’re gonna blush like that, I’ll remember to distract you more often, cutie,” Carmilla grinned, and she gave a low laugh when Laura become even _more_ flustered than she already was.

(God, that laugh. Laura could hear that forever.)

The sound of one of the staff dropping a mop caused them both to look away from each other. Carmilla and Laura were almost the only customers in the coffee shop, and the staff seemed ready to collapse from exhaustion. They would have to call the meet-up a day.

The same thought must’ve crossed Carmilla’s mind, because she started busying herself with her belongings. “Next time we’ll have to go to an all-night diner. I don’t like being chucked out at the start of my day.”

Laura chuckled. “You know, if you’re going to take a girl out, at least take her somewhere fancy,” she joked. Laura collected her stuff too, and stood up from her chair. She hoped that didn’t sound needy. It had just been a joke, really.

 _Sure, because you secretly don’t hope for that_ at all _, Laura._

Carmilla steadily rose, regarding Laura with a look she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Who’s to say I don’t?” She strode towards the bin, threw her coffee in, and continued, “I’ve always believed coffee’s better for a first date, however.”

Laura struggled to swallow. “So this was a date?”

The black-haired woman just shrugged, non-committal. “If you want it to be, creampuff.” She ceremoniously held out her elbow for Laura to take. “Shall we?”

Outside, and in the cold of the Austrian winter night, Laura was reluctant to unlink her arm with Carmilla’s in order to preserve heat. She was also reluctant to part with Carmilla, but sadly it had to be done.

“You’ll have to tell me when you’re free again, so we can meet up,” Laura tried. Well, it was a start.

Their breaths made small plumes in the cold air. Carmilla watched Laura’s before she replied, “You know what to do. Call me at least three times and maybe we’ll get something organised.”

This made Laura laugh. Yeah, maybe she _had_ been a bit eager. “Don’t say you didn’t enjoy them,” Laura grinned, “even though it _might_ kill you.”

“Not when it’s with you, sweetheart.”

“You’re such a softie,” Laura giggled, hitting Carmilla on her elbow just for good measure.

Carmilla’s eyes widened; she look offended at the concept. “Am _not_.”

“I’ll tell Kirsch and LaFontaine.”

“If you do, I may have the kill the three of you.”

“Don’t be afraid of it, Carm. You’re allowed to have feelings, you know,” Laura grinned.

“Don’t want them, they sound awfully contagious,” Carmilla responded effortlessly. She looked down, checked the watch on her right wrist. The clock face glinted in the moonlight. “I imagine it’s getting quite late for you, cutie. You should’ve been in bed three hours ago.”

Laura rolled her eyes at the obvious jab at her usually early bed time. (She liked to be well-rested for the next day, was that such a crime?) She knew it was time to leave, however. Without thinking, she grabbed the other woman’s wrist as she remembered one of the topics of their conversations. “Text me when you get home. And – I’m here if you want me, alright?”

Carmilla nodded, her gaze suddenly heavy again. “Got it. See you around, cupcake. Don’t climb up any trees while I’m gone.”

Laura let go and tried not to think about the lingering feeling of Carmilla’s soft skin on her palm. She shared a small smile with Carmilla as her figure retreated, and elicited a small sigh when she disappeared. She was relieved Carmilla’s earlier distractedness hadn’t been to do with her, but she couldn’t help but wonder just what _had_ caused it.

Still. That wasn’t the biggest matter of the night. She’d been on a _date_ with Carmilla Karnstein – her soulmate – and it had been better than she could have imagined. Now _that_ was something to think about.

And Laura did, with a huge smile on her face all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	7. Out of Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny received some news that made her dreams come tumbling down, and Laura's incredible clumsiness saved Carmilla from a night of boredom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on, I'll be updating regularly every Tuesday and Saturday, starting next Tuesday! Hooray for no exams.  
> tw: tiny mention of substance abuse

Danny should’ve known.

Danny should’ve known it would happen like this. All she’d done to get this far… all to fall at the final hurdle. All to fall because of what she was.

She’d spent most of her life running, training, and loving every second of it. Everyone in her family loved running, because it was in their blood. But she took it one step further; Danny had fallen in love with the idea of competing – and winning.

You can only fall so far before you hit the ground.

She’d won the competition. She’d aced the running, especially the long distance races (though that hadn’t been a direct product of her relentless training, she was still pretty proud of that), and had received her medals. Immediately, she’d gone to talk to sponsors to get her onto favoured professional athletic teams. The Olympic team had suddenly been in her sights, ready for her to grab with her jaws and take a bite. She could get there, she could join the team. Her gold medals showed that.

Months later, she received a very official-looking letter from the organisers. As soon as she saw the letter in the mailbox, she felt the fight go out of her. She called the first person she could think of who’d actually empathise with her – her little sister, Lily.

Lily was cocky, vain, and a pain in the ass. She was also Danny’s confidant for important matters. (She would’ve gone to her parents about this, but they’d only say, “We told you so” – and God, Danny did _not_ need that right now.) Lily may have been five years younger than Danny, but she was also reliable and pretty damn good at giving advice. So it was a bearable compromise.

 _“Whaddup, wolfie?”_ Danny heard as soon as Lily picked up.

“Is this a bad time?” Danny enquired, letting Lily know something was wrong.

_“No, just got my coding essay up on here. It’s for tomorrow, but I’m guessing this can’t wait. So I’m all ears, big sis. What’s got your tail between your legs, Dan? Girl problems? Boy problems? People problems? Did they find your huge Transformers toys collection?”_

Danny barked in laughter. She hadn’t had time for romance. (Besides, she’d always liked Transformers. They were mostly her older brother Aaron’s toys anyway.) “Shut up, puppy. No, it’s – uh – it’s athlete problems.”

 _“If you’ve broken your foot out running and need me to come pick you up, I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline. If I leave this room, my roommate’s gonna bring her irritating boyfriend around and he’s going to snoop through all my stuff. Do you know how hard it is to explain why you have a book on_ 1000 Thousands Ways to Cook Deer Meat _without telling him you shapeshift? Extremely hard, that’s the answer.”_

“It’s more serious,” Danny mumbled. At the tremble in Danny’s voice, Lily stopped absent-mindedly typing up her essay. “I got a letter, Lil. The results for the blood tests came back.”

 _“Spit it out, Dan.”_ There wasn’t a trace of humour in her voice now.

Danny breathed in. And out. “They’re thinking of disqualifying me for having drugs in my system,” Danny informed her robotically. “I’ll – I’ll read out the letter for you.”

The tall red head paced through her living room, stepping over water bottles and her cousin’s mess that he’d left from the day before. She snatched the despised papers up from the coffee table and read it out, her eyes hardening again as they scanned the words.

“ _‘To Miss Lawrence,_

_It is with regret that we have to inform you of your proposed disqualification from the Aspiring Athletes competition, due to the occurrence of cheating while participating in our annual international organisation. As you know, many athletes without sponsors or even semi-professional teams would consider participating in our games a privilege. This is why we were shocked and appalled to see the results of your compulsory blood tests._

_The results were very consistent during the entirety of the competition, and we could not find a reason for them besides you taking performance-enhancing drugs. The results showed:_

  *        _An unusually high red blood cell count in your samples_
  *        _A consequently large amount of haemoglobin_



_These results mean that, when running, you take in a higher amount of oxygen than usual. This allows your muscles to respire more, making you faster and allowing to run at a usually unachievable speed for longer. In addition to this, you are much less likely to respire anaerobically after the usual time, allowing you to use more energy than what you would should you have respired anaerobically. This puts you at an advantage over the other runners – who have, no doubt, trained just as hard as you and are just as dedicated._

_Though no drugs were found in your possession while in the US, there is no other explanation as to why you could have such a high red blood cell count. Therefore, we are legally obliged to disqualify you, and take back your title as gold medallist._

_We have spent the months between the competition and now scouring all of the fountains of scientific knowledge for other possible reasons for levels of red blood cells such as yours in your blood. Needless to say, we have failed to produce such a reason._

_The matter is currently being taken to the Executive Ethics Board. The verdict given – the final verdict – will be relayed back to you as soon as possible. It is certain that you will be disqualified, unless you are able to prove that this was not down to taking performance-enhancing drugs. If this cannot be done, we suggest that you think very deeply about your actions that have caused you to be reprimanded in such a way. We wish you luck for finding sponsors in the wake of such behaviour._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Aspiring Athletes’ Competition, Austria Team.’_ ,” Danny relayed to her sister. “It’s really serious. They think I’ve taken drugs, but I _haven’t._ ”

 _“Oh, Danny,”_ she heard Lily sigh from the other end of the call, and that was when it truly hit her.

Lily knew how much this meant to her. Danny’s insistence had nearly torn the house down, and Lily had been the only one to comfort her afterwards. (In a house of 6 kids, all of whom were close, this really said something.) Lily was the one to join her in training, listen to her stories – even when she’d been going through school herself. She always knew what to say when Danny won or lost.

And now? Lily couldn’t even find the words to say to her. That’s how fucked up the situation was.

Danny saw the calendar on her wall she was facing – something she knew was littered with dates for visiting sports centres or talks with possible sponsors – and she wanted to punch it. Or the wall. Anything, really. Anything that she could take her anger out on, she fucking _would._

 _“Is there anything you can do to suppress the red blood cell count? Like,_ actual _drugs or maybe a one-time injection? There’ll be stuff for that, right?”_

Danny very nearly lost control of her limbs. Alas, the wall was saved again by her self-control.

“Lily, are you even listening?” Danny snarled, trying to keep her voice from spiking with fury. “I’ve been chucked out because they suspect I’ve taken performance-enhancing drugs. Taking drugs to convince them I’m _not_ taking drugs is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. And even if that _was_ an option, it wouldn’t work. It’s our genetic composition, you dumbass. It’s as much a part of me as my – my _eyes_ are, or my legs are. Jesus, how did you even graduate middle school?”

_“Alright, alright, I get it. Not a great idea. Sorry. But you’ll be able to compete, won’t you?”_

“No,” Danny snorted. She collapsed onto her sofa, feeling her whole body shake. (If she was surrounded by soft things, less damage could be done.) “My career is _finished_. No sponsor will take me on; it’s bad rep. I don’t – I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.”

 _“Hey,_ no _,”_ Lily responded with such conviction that it made Danny jump. _“Just because you can’t compete on that scale, it doesn’t mean you can’t train and use your rad running skills. Running’s your thing; you can’t give up on it.”_

“Yeah, but I can’t do anything with it,” Danny trembled. “And this was the only thing I got from my education. It was always centred on my running.”

 _“You could be a personal trainer. Hold on a sec, wolfie.”_ The sound of perfectly manicured nails tapping on a keyboard could be heard as Lily searched for something. _“Yeah, you’d need to get a diploma in teaching exercise and fitness, but it’s nothing excruciating, Dan. Should be easy as cake.”_

“I think the saying’s “a piece of cake”, you weirdo,” Danny chuckled (which she considered a damn miracle, as she was currently seeing red).

_“Shut up, I’m an innovator. Computing major proves that. So whaddya say, Danny girl? Mom and Dad would be pleased.”_

Danny tensed at that. They’d actively discouraged Danny from following her dream; she therefore immediately disliked the idea of doing something with her career that satisfied them. She’d always wanted to be independent from their expectations, and this – more than anything else she’d done – felt like giving in.

 _But what choice do I have, really?_ she thought exhaustedly to herself. The alternative was being homeless, and being forced to stick to doing the rounds on the Styria territory every day. That was repetitive at best, coma-inducing at worst.

This wasn’t Danny. She didn’t give in. _So – this will be conditional. Temporary. Until something better comes along._

That idea made this bearable. If she stuck it out until she could find something better (preferably something competitive), then it could be managed.

Honestly, she couldn’t wait until she was the decider of her own destiny again. Especially when infuriating things like werewolf biology wouldn’t conflict with it.

“Fine, I’ll try it,” Danny relented, hearing the doorbell ring at that moment. That was Laura; she could tell by the _extremely_ sweet aroma coming from outside. (Seriously, did that girl eat anything other than cookies and grape soda?) Unluckily for her, she was going to see Danny in a _seriously_ pissed off mood, but Danny wasn’t feeling like she could punch something now, not with this on the horizon.

Still, telling Laura would make it all the more real, and that would make it hard to deal with again. She had calm herself down so Danny flipping (or God forbid, _transforming_ ) wasn’t an option. She said her goodbyes to Lily – not forgetting to thank her for her help – and sat there for a few minutes, pacifying herself, before getting up and opening the door to Laura’s bright and rosy face.

* * *

 

Laura finally got the opportunity to tell Kirsch about the date on Friday in the car. Kirsch was just as excited as she was, even if he was a bit quieter than usual. Laura didn’t really pay much attention to that at first, because her head was full of the date last night and she wanted to recall every detail as best she could. In fact, it was only when they got inside that Laura clocked on to Kirsch’s slightly unusual behaviour. If his subdued manner didn’t tell her, then the way he stared at the frame of his family on his desk sure did.

“Kirsch,” Laura pouted as she flung herself into her office chair. She’d opened her journalism pad and retrieved a pen from her bag before Kirsch replied.

“Yeah, little hottie?”

He was trying to make an effort to act normal. He even shot her an easy smile. But it didn’t _quite_ reflect in his eyes, and Laura put her pad down.

“Something’s up, isn’t it?”

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” came his reply, a masquerade of ignorance. As his laptop booted up, his hands drummed out a pattern on his bad leg – a habit that showed Laura he wasn’t telling the truth.

“Wilson,” Laura tried – something sure to grab his attention, because he really didn’t expect anyone to call him by his first name anymore – and his head shot up again. “You can tell me, you know.” At the sight of his miserable look, she took advantage of her chairs having wheels and scooched up to him. “About anything.”

“It’s just kinda… it’s the same old thing, ya know?” Kirsch finally said. “Just my family. None of us bein’ able to move on.”

“I understand that,” Laura nodded empathetically. And it was true; she did. Her mother’s death still hurt her, even though it had been years now. She was over double the age she’d been when she found out that terrible night. “But I don’t mind listening, Kirsch, you know I don’t.”

Kirsch nodded to himself and his eyes settled on the picture frame on his desk again. “Jordanna swears she saw Michael walking around again. Like, seriously. She says she was right there, watching him as he skulked around.” He shook his head. “I don’t know if she’s started trying some new thing or whatever, but it’s not right. He’s gone, Laura, and none of us even know how to… how to… comprehend it. I just don’t know why he went. Why it had to be him.”

Oh. She didn’t envy Kirsch at all right now. Or Jordanna. Getting on with life was harder while the wound was raw and gaping; Laura could tell it was sorer for those two. (It hurt the most for Jordanna – her and Michael had been the closest, being the closest in age.) She knew how it felt, she knew how it felt to ask _why did you leave me?_ over and over again in your mind without ever getting an answer.

But one day, Kirsch and Jordanna were going to stop asking that question. They were going to realise that it couldn’t be answered, not really, and the wound was going to heal over eventually.

Laura ached for them. If she could patch it over for them, she would. But she couldn’t do anything except watch them suffer as they went through the motions of grieving.

Kirsch suddenly squared his shoulders, took a deep breath. “And my mom’s making it worse, you know? Ever since someone attacked her, she’s all crazy into the supernatural. She’s like, “Oh, it could definitely be our Michael, he could be looking out for us.” And her input, it’s – it’s driving Jordanna on further. None of us need that right now. Whatever Jord’s on, I’ve – I gotta stop her. She and Mom will just make each other worse.”

“How is your mom?” Laura wondered, realising that Kirsch hadn’t talked about her for a long time. She wondered what had happened, and if everything was okay.

“Oh, she’s fine now,” Kirsch answered, relaxing into his chair. “She’s almost back to normal. Some physical things she can’t do, she has to sit down for a while, but it’s almost normal again. I don’t know, though. She’s changed, what with the, uh, supernatural thing.”

“Maybe it’s just Silas, Kirsch,” Laura shrugged, glad Kirsch’s mom was feeling better but still feeling worried for her. “If _anywhere’s_ going to have supernatural creatures, it can only be Silas.”

Her friend chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “You’re starting to sound like her.”

She winced. “Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” he brushed off. “Y’know, her injury was weird and all – but you’re right, so is this place. Suppose there’s got to be _some_ truth in her wacky words, right?”

Laura pulled a face at him as she wheeled back to her laptop, and Kirsch chuckled again.

There were a few minutes of comfortable silence as Laura started up her laptop and Kirsch focused on reading his emails. Laura knew she was going to have a long day of proof-reading her own articles and copy-editing Kirsch’s. She could already feel herself resisting the idea of it.

“Dude, I’ve got a new assignment in the field,” Kirsch noted in surprise. “Thought they were putting me off doing ‘em ‘cause I injured my foot again.”

“Are you interviewing?”

“Yeah, and visiting. Hey, could you take me?” Kirsch beamed down at her. “It’d really help, as you’re such a good driver and all.”

Laura gave him a confused look. He already knew her answer was yes. So why was he looking at her with that goofy grin on his face? “Where are we going?”

“Styria Art Museum,” he rushed. “And guess who’s got a piece in the new exhibition?”

* * *

 

“Cutie, you’re going to have to stop sneaking around if you want to get a report without breaking everything in sight,” Carmilla drawled, dabbing at Laura’s cut with some antiseptic. (She just had to make sure, that was all.)

Laura bit her lip and looked down at the raven-haired girl below her, and the vampire was reminded of the guilty look that had been painted on her face not too long ago. Laura had been apologising profusely ever since she’d fallen. Carmilla’s exasperated retort of, “Creampuff, I literally don’t care. You can shut up now,” had been the only thing that had managed to mollify her.

She wasn’t surprised that Laura had managed to worm her way into this part of her life, too. Laura had a habit of doing that; she had a presence in Carmilla’s thoughts. It was often erratic, but it would feel so normal that Carmilla was still surprised by it.

It’d usually take a lot for Carmilla to admit that she was grateful for someone being there at just the right time, even to herself. Often, she’d shrug it off or give a grunt of acknowledgement. But she had been glad that Laura had saved her, albeit with her clumsiness.

Carmilla had walked in twenty minutes late into the art museum, the competition well under way but certainly not over yet. She’d been immersed in her music playing from her earphones and hadn’t acknowledged the person aiming to greet her at the door. She’d walked right past, and settled at the back of the room. People had known she was in the room; they didn’t need to see her any more. Not that they’d particularly want to – Carmilla had felt their sly looks they’d given her. They’d soon returned to their pretentious conversations about the pretentious meanings behind their pretentious art, but that didn’t mean Carmilla hated them any less for it.

The vampire had silently cursed LaFontaine in her head for submitting her work into this stupid art competition. She’d also promised to herself that she was going to splice LaF for their incessant need to try and promote her skills wherever possible, dragging her into situations such as this. They knew she hated this stuff, surrounded by pasty 50-year-olds dressed in extravagant clothing, _uhm_ ing and _ahh_ ing about the significance of the dimensions created in this picture, accentuated by the deliberate spaces between the most and least important objects on the canvas. Carmilla had seen more art than they could ever hope to see, she’d seen the originals of the art they fawned over. She never bullshitted like they did.

The polished wooden floor had squeaked beneath her heavily buckled boots, and the submitted artwork (some of which had surpassed Carmilla’s low expectations) had glared at her while she’d felt eyes bore into her back. And she’d just wanted to leave. She’d regretted coming here on a whim (her commissions just hadn’t been doing it for tonight) and a night of indulging herself in some Plato sounded rather appealing.

However, she’d caught the sight of someone she knew, knew well (or was hoping to). The scent that filled Carmilla’s brain was one she’d got used to; it was saccharine and almost debilitating. Somehow, she hadn’t felt so fed up at the whole spectacle now.

Gravitating towards the tiny bundle of over-the-top joy that was Laura Hollis, and – annoyingly – the lumbering manchild that accompanied her, she’d been pondering how to greet Laura. She’d known they hadn’t spotted her (though Laura had been craning her neck this way and that), so Carmilla could sneak up on them.

To flirt, or make a snarky comment? Both had been equally tempting – but in the end Carmilla hadn’t got the chance to decide on one.

Because that was when Laura and Kirsch had fallen over each other, and Laura’s flailing arms had knocked over one of the submitted sculptures, twisting in an awkward way as she tumbled. Carmilla hadn’t even thought about it, just dived to catch the sculpture (Laura and Kirsch were too far gone to save), and – after putting the overly fancy thing on its pedestal – had extended her hand to Laura to help her up. Laura, in turn, had realised who’d gone to help her and immediately started apologising while checking that Kirsch was okay.

“Carm!” she’d gasped, flushing red with embarrassment. “We’re _totally_ not stalking you, I swear, Kirsch just got assigned to report on this and he wanted me to come and I am _so_ , so sorry for crashing in like this and—” she’d gone to move closer to Carmilla and stopped, feeling a sudden twinge of pain in her leg “— _ow_.”

“Let’s get you away from prying eyes,” Carmilla had sighed, her hands cradling Laura’s waist so Laura could walk, somewhat. And there they had gone – Laura limping, Carmilla trying to fend off her rushed apologies, with Kirsch grumpy and in tow (he’d managed to keep himself injury free, barring his broken foot – which, Carmilla suspected, had been down to pure luck).

Now back at Carmilla’s car, a first aid kit resting on the freezing ground next to Carmilla while Laura sat on the back seat, the vampire was tending to the journalist’s wound in the cold. Carmilla wondered how Laura had not been killed by her own clumsiness. Or how she’d not killed the ex-frat boy, either.

“I didn’t break anything!” Laura protested, bringing Carmilla back to the present and whimpering when a spike of pain shot through her. “You saved the vase, anyway.”

“Not a vase, cupcake,” came Carmilla’s reply. “I really shouldn’t be surprised that you got a cut from a sculpture. Of course _you’d_ make the impossible possible.”

“I think there was a screw loose on its plinth or something,” the tiny human explained. Next to Carmilla, the leg that wasn’t being held in place by Carmilla’s grip bounced again on the side of the car, in what the vampire hoped was nervousness. “The museum should get that checked out. If they ever listen to us. We crashed their competition, after all.”

The ghost of a smile played on Carmilla’s lips. “Laura Hollis crashing a party?” she mock-gasped. “I thought the day would never come.”

“Shut up.” Laura rolled her eyes, and the raven-haired woman didn’t expect her to prove the vampire wrong. “It’s only a museum. And we didn’t exactly _crash_ it, we were supposed to be there. Kirsch just forgot to tell them, that’s all. So we slipped in and pretended we were totally meant to be there.”

“Of course, because an ex-frat boy with a broken foot and a tiny girl wielding a notepad like it’s a weapon is _totally_ inconspicuous,” Carmilla remarked.

Laura punched Carmilla playfully. “Says the one in l-leather pants and… _that_ top.” Realising with wide eyes what she’d insinuated (and Carmilla certainly did too), she rambled on, “Considering most of the people there were middle-aged, you didn’t look normal, either.”

Carmilla glanced down at her attire. Leather pants, heavily buckled boots, and a low-cut, sleeveless top that Laura evidently appreciated. She made a mental note to wear it more often.

“Who said I was aiming to look normal?”

“...Fair point.”

A silence settled as Carmilla continued cleaning Laura’s cut. It wasn’t deep, but it was long, and she didn’t think she could cope with Laura moaning about it if it got infected.

She told herself that was the reason why she took extra care to clean it for Laura; why she made sure she took in every detail she could.

“Why were you there?” Laura piped up eventually, discreetly wiping her hands down her dress. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Carmilla mumbled, preferring not to expand on that reason. Laura didn’t need to know she’d woken up with the words _“Why didn’t you save me?”_ on her lips, trembling and sweaty and feeling claustrophobic from the nightmare she’d had. “Thought I might as well see if there was anything interesting here.”

“And was there?” Laura wondered, capturing Carmilla’s gaze and somehow stopping her from looking away.

But she managed to, eventually. “Well, seeing you and the human embodiment of a puppy fall over each other while trying to sneak about was mildly amusing,” Carmilla answered. “But apart from that, it was as dreary as expected.”

“So we entertained you,” Laura grinned, and Carmilla found it difficult not to smile with her.

“Only slightly. Don’t get too ahead of yourself, sweetheart.”

“I know you enjoy my presence, Carm.” The vampire just rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m glad we entertained you. Honestly, that place was getting to me. It just looked… dull.”

“I think the word you were looking for to describe that whole set up is _pretentious_.”

“Or that,” Laura gave her. “So why did you enter it then, if you thought it was pretentious?”

Before Carmilla could reply, Kirsch interrupted with, “Hey, hotties, when are we gonna get back? Jordanna needs me.”

A comeback was already on the curled lips of the vampire; a quick touch on the shoulder from Laura caused her to relent.

“We’ll be done soon, Kirsch, I promise!”

“Yeah, okay. Just tell me when you’re finished chatting each other up.” There was a teasing hint to his voice.

Laura looked at Carmilla, a blush spreading quickly through her cheeks. Carmilla just smirked back. Oh, that hadn’t even started yet.

Her smile dropped slightly when she remembered the book on her desk, filled with subtle hints and reminders of her past. The one she’d almost dropped in her horror-filled shock. Laura and Kirsch were tossing playful comments back and forth at each other; Carmilla barely heard them as she thought of how – if Will or the clan had their way – the easy life she led, the people she befriended, and the girl who was no doubt finding her way into the vampire’s heart quicker than expected, were going to be put into danger.

A very, very real danger. One that could change everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	8. A Picture Paints a Thousand Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The decision that Carmilla made may or may not end up with just with broken bones. Meanwhile, Laura stumbled upon something fascinating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so long, haha, I got a bit carried away!

“Carmilla!” someone yelled.

For God’s sake. This was not beneficial for her. Carmilla had just spiralled slowly into a surprisingly pleasant dream – and now she was being dragged back to consciousness.

Cursing humans’ invasive sleeping patterns, she groaned and rolled over in her bed.

“Carmilla, have you been reading your emails lately?” LaFontaine sighed, their head appearing from the doorframe. Why were they here, and how did they get here? Oh, yes, LaFontaine had practically insisted so they could motivate Carmilla in her work. Wonderful. “I’ve had to forward 20 emails to you. And this Will Luce guy is telling me you’re flat-out ignoring him.”

“Go away,” Carmilla retorted groggily. She refused to think about this now.

“It’s not fair, vamp. You know it. I’ve got three other artists I represent who rely on me, too,” LaFontaine argued. “And I need my computer for test data. Instead I’ve been having a long conversation with Will. He’s not bad, though.”

The vampire couldn’t imagine caring about LaFontaine’s data any less; it was simply impossible. “He’s not important.”

“He seems to think so.” Carmilla could see them fold their arms as she lifted her head up to see them. “He said he needed to see you about “excruciatingly important vampire matters that surpass your understanding”. I don’t know what customs you have, but I think Will’s telling you to stick to them. It sounded pretty urgent, anyway.”

Carmilla stilled; sat up properly. If he was telling LaFontaine – whom, Carmilla knew, would not have usually had a reason to know of their nature – then he was being extremely insistent. And Carmilla knew Will well enough to know that he would not give this up.

While LaFontaine waited for an answer, the illustrator weighed up her options. To refuse would mean that Will – or the other members of the clan – would force their way to meet her. That could have catastrophic consequences, especially where Laura (and her friends) were concerned. She’d spent the time since her escape trying to sever her links to her past as much as possible. She didn’t want her past crossing over with her present and future.

On the other hand, refusing to see Will might show the clan that she was serious. She wasn’t going back on her word; she’d left for good, and she wanted to keep it that way. They might finally get the message that she wanted to be left alone.

 _No_ , Carmilla realised miserably. _They really won’t. They’ll just send someone to meet me. Or worse, perhaps._

“I’ll talk to him tonight,” the vampire told them in a small voice. “Now may I get some peace and quiet for once?”

“Wait, I have a few questions,” LaFontaine blurted out.

Carmilla sighed. Evidently, she wasn’t going to be getting any sleep today.

* * *

 

Styria could be so cold. Luckily, Carmilla didn’t feel the temperature – or lack thereof. She could’ve easily walked through the dark, built-up streets of Silas (that slowly got sparser the further she walked) in a tank top, shorts and boots, but she had appearances to keep up. She needed to look human, so as not to look suspicious.

Because there was absolutely nothing suspicious about meeting a creature of the night on the edge of a city at night, of course.

Carmilla sighed to herself, adjusting the centre of gravity for the umbrella in her hand. The werewolves’ boundary laws meant that Will couldn’t be in Styria on more than two occasions. As he’d delivered the book personally, this was his second and last time. And if the werewolves knew she was doing this, they were going to have a lot of questions for her. The last time they’d interrogated her, she’d managed to persuade them to let her live in Silas permanently – this time, if she was caught, she might not be so lucky.

She adjusted the lapels of the silky obsidian coat she was dressed in. It was expensive, almost priceless, something she’d stolen from Mother’s collections in her preparations for her escape. She believed it was another small “fuck you” to the clan, delivered in the most subtle way. She was also a little grateful she’d taken it tonight – the wind rushing through her could be quite unpleasant and the coat sheltered her from that. The weather hadn’t calmed down all day and now, with the lashing rain and icy wind, the vampire wished Will had chosen to meet up somewhere not so vulnerable to the winter.

Her phone buzzed at her again. Without thinking, she opened the text and saw it was the newest one from Laura.

 _Cupcake (22:20): Hey Carm, fancy meeting up again tonight? I did say I was going to introduce_ The Vampire _Diaries to you sometime. You could come to my house if you want :)_

_Cupcake (22:36): I know you’ve seen my text but you haven’t replied. I’m guessing that’s a no then? :(_

_Cupcake (22:59): If anything’s wrong, you can let me know_

_Cupcake (23:03): Have a good night_

Carmilla winced involuntarily. She shouldn’t have opened it; Laura would think that Carmilla was ignoring her. She technically _was_ , but she couldn’t exactly explain why. The vampire was still worried about approaching the subject of her nature to Laura. The last thing she wanted was to scare her soulmate off.

_Nocturnal Grump (23:05): Sorry, cupcake, an invitation to your house sounds very tempting but I’m going to meet up with someone. Have to reschedule it for later_

There. She hoped Laura wouldn’t be _too_ pissed off at her.

There were two people waiting for her. This confused her. Will hadn’t said anything about bringing someone else. Then again, they weren’t exactly close.

What if it was Mother? The ice that shot through her was not caused by the bitter wind or the rain rolling off her coat; her throat constricted as she thought of meeting Mother again.

Mother, who had been so manipulative and cruel upon Carmilla’s return. Her Mother, who had chastised Carmilla for falling in love with a human and disobeying clan rules whilst praising Carmilla’s beauty in the same breath. Her Mother, who, as soon as Carmilla had stepped even marginally out of line, would send other – _much_ older – _Lophiiformes_ members to bully her, intimidate her.

Mother had burned her drawings, stripped her of influence within the clan, and had reminded Carmilla time and time again just how fragile she was compared to her. When Mother broke bones, she did so with a smile on her face.

Carmilla was petrified of her. She tried not to show it.

Will’s accomplice wasn’t their Mother, however. His accomplice was male, very young in Carmilla’s eyes, and he stared at the Carmilla with sullen, sunken eyes. He was taller than Will, though he had been younger when he was killed, but the way he shrank into himself showed that he was at Will’s feet. His gaze was fearful, if nothing else, and nothing else showed on his chiselled face.

So, Mother was recruiting again. Would she ever stop?

The illustrator paid no more attention to him. Instead, she glanced at her surroundings – an old country road, overtaken by wilderness. The concrete of the road was cracked at the edges as nature took over, and pools of water formed here in particular. Behind her, civilisation began its invasion just after the road bisecting this one; a few houses were situated there, hunched over with age and protecting the inhabitants against the cold. The local authority had recently put in a few street lamps for the residents, and already these were being taken over by various weeds and plants. In front of her, Will and the kitten had taken shelter from the rain under an enormous tree, situated at one of the corners of the crossroads; it was starting to uproot the road. Carmilla was glad that their eyes were well accustomed to the lack of light – the tree they were under had brought a shadow upon them and subsequently cast out any light that had somehow managed to find them.

_Well, here goes nothing._

“Momma’s Boy,” she greeted Will.

“Kitty, what an absolute displeasure to see you again,” he answered.

Carmilla had made the effort to blend in with humanity; Will, by contrast, had opted to wear a tight t-shirt and dark pants with legs too long for him. The new kitten was wearing a blue blouse and some jeans. Not coats or anything of the sort, despite the Styrian winter chill. (Carmilla was anticipating the inevitable arrival of snow, also. She had to admit there was some beauty in something so dangerous.)

“You’re looking awfully human,” he noted. “You’re enjoying this game of hide and seek too much, don’t you think?”

“I won that game a year ago. There’s no longer a need for more searching.” She shifted her centre of gravity, a human habit she’d picked up despite its total uselessness.

“The game never stops, Kitty.” His voice was light, teasing. “You’re part of the clan forever, don’t you get it? You can’t escape.”

And yet that was exactly what she had done. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh, we should,” Will snorted. He glanced at the boy next to him (the kitten didn’t look older than 23 at the very oldest); he was silent, staring into the streets of Silas and gazing fondly at the warm glow that was being emitted from the street lamps. “No one’s going to hurt us,” came Will’s voice again, and Carmilla’s eyes made their way lazily over to his face.

“This isn’t your ground.”

“But it’s yours?” Will sneered. “Kitty, nothing here is yours. Not your flat, not your friends, not your life. You don’t control them; Mother does.”

Carmilla was about to give him a scathing retort when the arrogant glint in his eye stopped her.

“Ah, you’d want to protect your friends, wouldn’t you? What’s her name, your agent…? LaFontaine, right? She’s nice,” he rushed, on too much of a roll for Carmilla to interrupt him with anything (not least with something about the misgendering). “But I doubt you’ll have made any more, Kitty; you never did get good at befriending people. And…”

Before the female vampire could register what was happening, Will jumped on her. He didn’t attack her, as such, just twisted her arm out and shoved her sleeve back, showing a blank arm where her numbers had been.

“So you found her!” he crowed delightedly. “Took you long enough, Kitty. I hope she won’t mind you returning to us. She may have to be persuaded, th—”

In an instant, Carmilla had him pressed up against the trunk of the tree (the boy vampire leapt back with a small yelp), his arms twisted painfully behind his back. Carmilla could hear his heavy breathing, see his black hair get dirtied by the tree. He was trying to break free, but she applied more force to his arms, and Will’s whimper turned into a cry of pain.

This was extremely satisfying. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed being able to boss someone about like this. LaFontaine was so fragile and human; they were no fun. Will, however… she could make him eat all of his words, easily. After all, he was still a kitten himself, and she was 334 years old. She could rip him apart with the slightest of manoeuvres.

She decided to be more lenient.

“You are not going to hurt her,” Carmilla hissed at him, her fangs protruding from her gums. “You have no right to be here, to be anywhere _near_ here. And you. Will. Not. Hurt. Her.”

“Who said I’d be the one returning?” Will spat.

Carmilla tightened her grip in his t-shirt and pushed him further, causing his head to slam against the trunk. Even in this lack of light, she could see his wide, black eyes and his face caked in sweat. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not going back to the clan? How many times do I have to say it before you get it into your _stupid_ brain that, no matter how many puny messengers Mother sends to threaten me, _I’m not going back?_ ”

“You’ll be staked, you dumb—” Carmilla twisted his arms even more, and he hissed in pain in front of her. “…if you don’t return. M-Mother said to t-tell you. You’re o-out of your league!”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Mother will get to her, Kitty, she’ll – she’ll hurt her l-like Ell.”

A resounding _crack_ could be heard as Will’s arms finally broke under Carmilla’s brute strength. Will, to his credit, didn’t scream, but gasped loudly.

“I won’t let Maman hurt Laura.” Carmilla let go of the other vampire and watched as he whimpered and flailed. A victorious smile spread across her face. “Tell her I send my best regards, but I won’t be giving you the privilege of my return.” She turned on her heels. “It was nice to meet you again, Momma’s Boy, but I have a life to get back to. See you never.”

“You could’ve – chosen something more – inconspicuous, Kitty,” Will panted. “Plastering your – name over the – internet wasn’t – wasn’t smart. I thought you – were better than – that.”

“Getting jealous at my success?” Carmilla smirked, looking back as she put up her umbrella. “I can’t help it if my art sells more than your shitty book.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Will tried to yell at her.

“Sure, Momma’s Boy,” she grinned, giving them a small wave for good measure as she left.

When she crossed the road and saw her umbrella cast a shadow in the street lamp’s light, she heard the kitten turn tentatively to Will and ask, “Hey, are you okay? You sounded like you were in a lot of pain.”

“I’m fine,” Will growled back. “Let’s just go; the wolves might see us.”

It was difficult not to hear the discomfort in Will’s voice. That gave her some satisfaction, but the smirk fell further the closer she got to home.

* * *

Laura had never been in Carmilla’s apartment before. She’d known Carmilla for over a week now, and she didn’t know her well enough to be invited into her apartment (although she _had_ invited the illustrator to her flat to watch _The Vampire Diaries_ ). But this _was_ for Kirsch’s interview, and Kirsch needed someone to cart him around. Perry could easily have done this for him, but Kirsch had insisted that Laura was the one to do this with that cheeky glint in his eye.

Right. The soulmates thing. Apparently this made Kirsch chief matchmaker or something like that. LaFontaine had taken up that post, too, so all she got at work was “How’s Carmilla, Laura?” and “How far have you got with her?”

(Kirsch had earned a punch on the arm for that last one.)

She was nervous, there was no denying it. She was going to be in Carmilla’s _apartment_ , for an undetermined amount of time, seeing Carmilla come to life even more through her possessions. Things would get a whole lot more personal. And that was slightly terrifying.

Things were happening quickly. Laura wasn’t sure if she should hold back a bit or dive straight in.

Kirsch diverted her attention to his questions (and the road, of course), which helped Laura to settle a bit more. He’d thought of all the questions himself, and he was quite proud of himself for doing so. He was still quite nervous, though, because this was Carmilla and she hadn’t given him the best first impression. Laura assured him that she’d be there to provide moral support if he needed it – but it wasn’t like he’d need it, anyway. He’d be fine on his own.

This put an even bigger smile on his face.

Carmilla lived right on the edge of the city, so the journey took quite a while, but eventually they got there. Even on the outside, the apartments looked cushy. Everyone who lived there must be quite wealthy. Laura helped Kirsch out and guided him to the elevators. (They were exquisitely designed – Laura was pretty sure the metal used was platinum or something equally as outrageous – and ran, Laura found, a _lot_ more smoothly than the ones in her and Kirsch’s block of flats. Lucky Carmilla.) Surprisingly, they’d barely got out of the elevator when they were face to face with the artist in question.

Carmilla had a bag in one perfectly manicured hand, while the other turned the key in the lock of her apartment door. Her outfit was simple, just a thin shirt with flowery, black decoration on the shoulders, and (very short) black shorts. If she hadn’t been completely wowed over by how stunning Carmilla looked in such casual clothes, Laura would’ve wondered how on Earth her soulmate hadn’t got hypothermia yet. Seriously, it was predicted to snow today.

“Hey, cutie,” Carmilla smiled at her – and Laura felt herself blush, because there was something in Carm’s voice that told her she _knew_ Laura had been looking. Her soulmate’s eyes flickered to Kirsch and she nodded at him. “The manchild.”

“Hey, Carm…sexy!” he beamed, already moving to meet her and leaving a flustered Laura behind. “So, did you know we’re coming to interview you about the art competition?”

“Kirsch, I told you I sent her a text,” Laura chastised him lightly, finally catching up. “We won’t be long, I promise, we just need to get this interview done because we didn’t get anything on the _actual_ competition – and because we know you, I thought it might be a good idea as you’re the winner, after—”

“Cupcake, I don’t mind.” Carmilla sent her a dazzling smile and Laura was reminded once again that she’d really got the perfect soulmate. She opened the door to her apartment and courteously held out her arm for the both of them. “After you.”

Kirsch looked surprised, but walked in anyway and immediately turned into the living/dining room. Laura smiled gratefully at her and followed suit.

And then stopped.

 _Wow_ , she had a nice apartment.

The hall in which Laura had deposited her shoes had been decorated with a sleek wooden floor and equally as smooth walls; the walls were a bare white and were sparsely decorated with gorgeous prints – sometimes of people, sometimes of nothing in particular. (Nothing in particular to Laura, anyway; she had a feeling that everything always had a meaning in art, no matter what it was.) She immediately followed Kirsch into the living/dining room and found a room lavished with expensive furniture and tons of style. The first thing she saw was a black sofa with an accompanying coffee table, looking like it belonged in a mansion, which was facing the ridiculously large television Carmilla had purchased. Adjacent but unattached to that was a single chair, the same material and colour as the sofa, which had its back to the huge windows that Laura was now facing. These windows had mechanical eggshell white curtains over them; Laura was curious about this but didn’t want to pry. (Maybe Carmilla had got a bad hangover or something. She knew her soulmate had previously spent nights partying and taking home girls for the night.)

Behind the sofa stood the dining table, carved out of wood and painted white. Each part of it looked as if it was meant to be there – every grain, every darker section of the wood, all four legs that had carved feet depicting a big cat of some kind. It was surrounded by black dining chairs with overly long backs that Laura knew would be comfortable. Against the wall holding the windows was a piano, shining in the chandelier’s (yeah, _chandelier’s_ ) light with all of the majesty a piano could possess. It appeared to be used often – or at least cleaned often – as the dust in the house had not yet settled upon it.

And there were books. Everywhere. On every surface imaginable, Carmilla had left books half-open and half-read, to be picked up whenever she felt like it. There was a stack of them on the dining table, a cluster on the piano. There was one on the small, round coffee table and even one on the floor next to the windows.

“I should put this date in my diary, shouldn’t I?” Carmilla mused behind her as she shut the living/dining room door quietly. “The day I succeeded in making Lauronica Mars silent.”

Laura snapped her mouth shut (wait, since when had it been open?) and fumbled over her words, “I – it’s… wow.”

Kirsch flopped onto the sofa and added, “Dude, how can you afford these things? They’ll be, like, ten thousand Euros at _least_!”

“Family inheritance,” Carmilla shrugged nonchalantly, gliding over to the chair and draping her legs over it before laying down. “I believe you wanted to ask me some questions?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kirsch smiled. He looked over at Laura, who was stuck between her thoughts on how _amazing_ this place was and her curiosity at Carmilla’s answer. “Laura?”

Laura sprang into action. “Oh! Right, yeah – um, here’s your stuff, Kirsch.” Then she paused. “Carm, would I be okay to get a drink?”

Carm had picked up one of her books lying around and was flicking through the pages. At the sound of her nickname, though, she looked up. “Uh, sure. Glasses are in the counter to the right of the fridge. And –” a sheepish look crossed her face “– I can only provide tap water. You wouldn’t like any of my drinks.”

Laura supposed they were alcohol or something. Possibly a special sort of alcohol. Whatever, it was 3 in the afternoon and it would be crazy to start on something alcoholic. She thanked the illustrator and was about to question exactly _where_ the kitchen was when Kirsch started his recorder and launched his questions at Carmilla.

Okay, so she needed to go on an adventure. That was very fine with Laura; she just hoped Carmilla wouldn’t mind.

Laura exited out of the living/dining room to the hall and did a quick “eenie-meenie-miny-mo” game in her head to help her decide which room to go next. She landed on the room next to the living/dining room, and her feet took her towards the room.

When she opened the door and stepped inside, she immediately realised she wasn’t in the kitchen. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave, exactly, because – well, it was Carmilla’s art room.

It was spacious. It felt sparse. But, like, in a good way. Carmilla was obviously channelling some minimalism or whatever so it helped her focus on her work – but the room was just so _big_ and so _white_ and she had a grand total of five pieces of furniture: her easel, her stool, her desk and the tiny table that Carmilla put her paints on. The windows were curtained like in the living/dining room, and the chandelier (again, a chandelier? Carmilla must have been rich) illuminated the room in a soft light that was almost like daylight. And in the centre of the room, propped up by the easel, was Carmilla’s latest painting.

Of her. Of Laura.

A quiet sort of wonder came over her as she tiptoed up to it, anxious to analyse every detail of it. It was incredible to say the least – every brushstroke made so far was done with unbelievable skill, with a delicacy that Laura could and couldn’t associate with Carmilla at the same time. The shadows were done so perfectly, the material of her dress so life-like Laura wanted to reach out and touch it and feel the cotton. The hair wisped off in different directions, reflecting reality in every detail. The face was Laura’s, it was definitely hers, but Carmilla hadn’t finished painting that yet. Laura could still see the smile on the painted Laura’s face, and it made the corners of her mouth perk up slightly. The skin was rosy and warm, the dress a bright yellow ( _it’s got to be similar to the one I wore when we got coffee_ , Laura thought to herself), and the arms held up in a position that made the Laura in the painting seem youthful, innocent, and happy.

But it was also pretty… morbid, as paintings go, because there was the fact that most of painting Laura’s skin – and one side of the dress – had been melted away to show her innards.

Carmilla had been meticulous in her representation of Laura’s skeleton, of the different tissues and organs inside of her. For the most part, the dress had remained intact, but painting Laura’s right side was melted away to show her insides as well. All of the bones – going from the top of her thigh bone to her shoulder bone and even the humerus, radius and ulna bones – were on show and realistic to every last detail; the organs seemed to be glistening in the chandelier’s light, and the other tissues – like the tendons and ligaments joining the muscles that had been kept, and so on – were just the same. Carmilla had even cut away the skin of painting Laura’s throat to show her voice box and the bones in her neck.

And on the left side of painting Laura’s body, on her chest, showed a blood stain spreading out from the heart.

It was a fascinating juxtaposition – the life and joy that painting Laura was supposed to hold in her eyes, set against the bleeding of her heart and the exposure of her insides – that enraptured Laura completely. She’d seen Carmilla’s previous paintings – both at the art competition and through her own research – but none of them had quite captured the purpose of the painting in such a way like this one did. She knew that the other paintings hadn’t had that purpose, and so weren’t painted in that way – but even so, this one was so _raw_ and heartfelt that Laura stood in stunned silence for a little while, just staring. Staring at a morbidly beautiful version of herself.

She got it. She did. It was about innocence and fragility – not only _her_ own fragility, but Carmilla’s too. Here was a reminder that Carmilla, like Laura, like any human, could be broken. She could be stripped open, laid bare in front of others. It was a reminder of the vulnerability of life and the consequences that threatened it. And the bleeding heart – Laura’s broken, bleeding heart – was to do with Carmilla’s worry.

Worry that she might break Laura’s heart. That maybe she might not be good enough for Laura.

She snorted to herself at that idea. The idea that _Carmilla_ wasn’t good enough for Laura – it was preposterous! While Carmilla hadn’t exactly warmed up to Laura’s friends, she’d shown Laura nothing but kindness (and her ability to flirt). Carmilla had shown herself as a puzzle, as a person, as a decent human being – no matter how much she might have snorted at and commented on Laura’s friends in their conversations. Laura was still in awe that this woman was her soulmate, and that they would spend the rest of their lives together with each other. That they complemented each other, in heart and soul and mind. And – yes, although she didn’t know Carmilla very well, she was enjoying every second spent with her. She was enjoying fitting the pieces together of the puzzle that was Carmilla Karnstein, to see what beauty they would produce.

The woman, the myth, the mystery. The illustrator. Her soulmate.

Yeah, she really liked the sound of that.

She also liked the sound of a drink of water, though, so she pulled herself out of her amazed stupor and trotted back into the hall, where she selected a glass from the cupboard to the right of the fridge, and filled it up with tap water. She dutifully made her way back to the living/dining room where Kirsch and Carmilla were still talking. Kirsch was starting to sweat slightly and the look he gave Laura was a grateful one.

“Got a bit lost, sweetheart?” Carmilla questioned, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Laura plopped down on the sofa, in between Carmilla and Kirsch, and nodded while she took a sip of the cool liquid. “I found it, though.”

Carmilla gave her a lingering smile that Laura easily reflected, and Kirsch coughed purposefully.

“Can we – can we do that question again, Carmilla?”

No pet names? Carmilla must have warned him about that while Laura was gone. Hopefully a not too threatening warning, but there was no guarantee of that.

The sweating done on Kirsch’s part lessened with Laura now in the room. Finally some actual journalism could be done, because Laura turned out to be an _excellent_ guide for Carmilla on what to say and what not to say. Well, not so much Laura as her elbows poking into Carmilla’s side. (Luckily the illustrator wasn’t that far away from her, so even with her small body she didn’t have to reach very far.) However, Laura and Carmilla partook in a playful conversation that was quickly spiralling into Carmilla flirting and Laura not being able to do anything but blush; at that point, Kirsch decided to give up pestering Carmilla about her art and packed away his belongings.

“Hey, do you mind if I go and see the original? I know the museum’s got a print of it. Would – would that be okay?” he wondered suddenly.

“Sure, puppy boy.” Carmilla waved him off with a lazy flick of her wrist. “It’s through the door behind you.”

Kirsch nodded in thanks and eased himself up; despite his crutches, he was gone quickly and set about his business.

It didn’t take long for the two women to hear his cry of, “Dude, awesome! Kinda creepy though.” Both knew exactly what he was talking about; they locked eyes, but Laura looked away guiltily.

“You saw it?” Carmilla asked, though Laura’s aversion of her eyes had pretty much answered that question for her.

“Yeah, I… kinda got lost,” Laura chuckled nervously. Her eyes flashed suddenly and locked onto her soulmate’s. “But Carmilla, it’s _fantastic_. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s – it’s beautiful.”

“I had a pretty good model for it,” the illustrator replied, but there was a bit of sadness in her tone, and her own guilt.

Laura reddened again (that was getting quite embarrassing now) but charged on anyway. “I love it, Carm. And I understand all of it, all of the symbolism, what it all means.”

Carmilla shook her head, picking at an exposed seam in her shorts. “Not fully. But I appreciate your words.”

“What do you mean “not fully”? It’s about fragility and all that,” Laura frowned. “And… your worry.”

Carmilla did that thing of letting her eyes slowly flicker to Laura’s and peering through her eyelashes – and Laura wasn’t surprised that her heart tripped over itself for a beat.

“It’s you worrying that you’re going to break my heart, right? That you’re not gonna live up to my expectations?”

Carmilla nodded. “The last one, especially,” she admitted softly.

“Well, that’s not gonna happen, Carm. We’re soulmates. We’re meant for each other, and we’ll stick together through everything. That’s what being a soulmate means, and… I want to do that with you. I want to be there for you. And I’m not gonna do this half-heartedly; I’ll put my all in.” Laura smiled to herself. “There’s no way in hell or Hogwarts that you could not be enough for me, Carm. It doesn’t work like that. I mean, look at you! You’re annoying and gorgeous and sarcastic and you’re funny, and clearly that’s the perfect thing for me. I need that to ground me. I need you to ground me.”

Maybe she wasn’t in love yet, but it was something close. And already, the thought of it made her smile.

It made Carmilla smile, too – though currently her smile was more of a smirk.

“Annoying and gorgeous, huh?” came the illustrator’s husky reply.

“Shut up,” Laura mumbled, grinning.

There was a peaceful quiet moment (except for the sound of Kirsch cursing his foot in the next room) between them, broken only by Carmilla’s next train of thought.

“I _am_ sorry I couldn’t watch _The Vampire Diaries_ with you, cupcake,” she informed Laura, who was touched. “It was… all very last minute.”

Laura had long forgiven Carmilla for essentially ignoring her. But she played to her – _their_ – advantage. “I’ll forgive you as long as you can make up for the lost time.”

Carmilla raised one of her ever-expressive eyebrows in questioning.

“There _is_ a new film at the theatres tonight. It’s about vampires too, so it’s keeping in your apparent interest.” Laura suddenly found it hard to get the rest of her request out – she was asking Carmilla out on a date, after all. She shuffled in her seat and felt her cheeks heating up. “Maybe if you, I don’t know, if you didn’t have anything on tonight, you’d… want to see it with me?”

It took Carmilla a heartbeat to consider it. “I think I might like that very much.”

Laura’s nervous expression melted into an excited one.

Kirsch returned at that moment; he did his best to close the door quietly but the awkward situation with his foot meant he still slammed it. Laura and Kirsch jumped, but Carmilla stayed as still as a statue. “I’m done. Thanks for letting me look at your work, hottie, it was _awesome_.”

Carmilla gave him a grunt of acknowledgement in return.

Kirsch’s attention turned to Laura now, who was drinking the last of her water. “L, is it alright if we go now? I’ve got a date tonight that Perry set me up with ‘cause apparently our numbers were the same. Apparently her name’s Danny and she’s this really ginger athletic chick—”

Laura almost choked on her water. “Danny?” she repeated incredulously. Dannywas going on a date with Kirsch? Danny was _soulmates_ with Kirsch? Her life had just become that little bit crazier.

“You know her?” Kirsch piped up, his face bright.

“She was the one I sort of dated last year,” she admitted. When Carmilla took the glass of water off her and disappeared into the kitchen, Laura realised that it might not have been the wisest idea to mention that particular event in front of her. While realising this, she saw Kirsch’s worried expression and quickly reassured him, “Kirsch, it’ll be fine, it’s all done between us now. We’re just friends. You’ll have a great time.”

Pacified, he nodded his head and grinned. “Alright, so, can you take me home?”

Carmilla was the second person she reassured about her absolute no involvement with Danny. Carmilla shouldn’t really have a reason to be jealous, but Laura wanted to make sure. She wanted to do this right. And when Carmilla found her hand and squeezed it while saying goodbye, that want was only heightened.

She could do this right, couldn’t she? She wouldn’t break Carm’s heart. They wouldn’t break each other’s hearts, and it was going to be the best adventure they’d ever been on.

Carmilla wouldn’t need to worry about her, wouldn’t need to paint those sorts of paintings. That painting had been beautiful, yeah, but it hadn’t been accurate.

Carmilla and Laura were soulmates. They’d always work out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular updates every Tuesday and Saturday!
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	9. Unfortunately Fortunate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny was still coming to terms with not being an athlete anymore, and Kirsch's lifelong aim of being a bro was not helping. Carmilla and Laura got ever closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mention of drug abuse

The phone call to Danny’s father went as badly as she expected it to. She didn’t know how she’d let herself get her hopes up, because she could’ve always counted on him to be as unsympathetic as possible.

At least he didn’t laugh.

 _“Danny, we’ve always told you that this couldn’t work,”_ he argued. _“Why did you never listen to us? Why do you never listen to us about important things?”_

“That’s not true, Dad,” she shot back, pacing back and forth in her room. The last thing she’d wanted was to have her dad rabbit on about her foolishness before she met her soulmate, but life certainly never liked things to be easy for her. She’d known she couldn’t rely on her brothers to keep that away from their parents. She was such an idiot.

 _“I told you how important it was to not do things in the human world that brought attention to your werewolf abilities,”_ he continued, not listening. _“And you disobeyed us. You should be lucky you haven’t been more severely reprimanded, young lady.”_

She hated how strict the family structure was for werewolves. Parents were your elders; their word was final and could not be contested. Danny was surprised she’d not been punished further, either, but she wasn’t going to take any reprimands now. Her bitterness was a good enough punishment.

“What would you do, anyway _?”_ she snorted, flinging open her wardrobe and picking out a suitable outfit. One that toed the line between casual and dressing up. “I’m an adult now.”

_“You’re still part of the pack. Until you get a nice husband and settle down, your orders come from us. When you settle down, they’ll come from the Werwolf Ausschuss für Osteuropa and your grandparents. You know all this.”_

“Well, yeah.” Being the grandchild of one of the werewolves on the Werewolf Committee for Eastern Europe meant she’d learnt all that from an early age. It also meant that she had a little influence compared to the most other werewolves, but it wasn’t like she used it all that much.

_“So we can punish you how we please until you marry. And that means refusing to give you help to sort out your mess.”_

Her heart jumped in her throat. Fuck, they’d actually do that? When? Now? She needed the money just to get on the course. She still had a ton of student debt to pay as well – though, thank God, the competitions she _had_ done before she’d got disqualified had paid off a big amount of that. “When did you and Mom decide on that?”

 _“We haven’t,”_ was his simple reply. _“Danny, I don’t understand why you can’t see this disqualification as a blessing. You’ve always come precariously close to exposing your true nature to humans. It’s time you stopped chasing this… impossible dream and do what your parents tell you. Do what we’ve been telling you ever since you got this frankly crazy idea into your head.”_

Danny was seeing red again. She’d heard this before, always heard it, and she was sick of it. The fact that she’d admitted defeat had made her father more eager to rub his victory in her face, and she despised it. “Are you hearing yourself right now?”

_“Perfectly. It appears you aren’t.”_

“ _Oh_ , I am,” Danny growled. “I’m hearing your bias loud and clear, Dad. I’m hearing your… lack of support and trust in me so very well. Just because I couldn’t devote myself to werewolf business or the Committee, you and Mom decided to demonise my dream! I’m sorry that I didn’t follow your footsteps, or wasn’t like my brothers or sisters that followed yours. I’m sorry that I chose to do something that I actually _enjoyed and believed in_ , because clearly I’m the only one around here that actually does that!”

The silence at the other end of the phone gave her time to angrily reflect on her situation. Danny was sat in front of the mirror in the bedroom, applying makeup while the phone was on loudspeaker on the desk. Her hair was flowing from her head in that ferocious way that she always tried to tame, and her eyes were hardened as she looked at herself in the mirror.

Wild. She was wild.  Animalistic. Here she was, barely unable to control her instincts. She could feel herself getting on the verge of transforming, her hands shaking, because her dad had harshly reminded her of what she was and what she could only ever be.

She was a werewolf. She wasn’t human. She couldn’t chase the dreams she’d doted on all her life. She couldn’t do what she loved best, what she excelled in, because she had to adhere to conforming.

It sucked.

She could see her father in her features. His jaw, his nose, his height. She had her mom’s eyes – Lawrence eyes – and she liked that. (They were both from an ancient lineage that had fanned out massively across the centuries, but not enough to make them related; her mother had the purest Lawrence blood, being the daughter of two Committee members.) She’d inherited more of her mom in her personality than her dad, and she liked that too – though her mother hadn’t welcomed Danny being an athlete at all, either. Sometimes that was enough for Danny to make her wish she wasn’t related to them.

Danny heard her father sigh, and her hackles raised again. What else did he have to say? What else could he possibly say that could make her feel worse?

 _“I had the same aspirations as you did, Dan,”_ he admitted. Well, she hadn’t expected _that_. _“I wanted to be a triathlete. I’m sure you know how much hard work goes into that. So I pushed at it, and I did very well. I beat every human there, consistently. I… you can say I wasn’t liked, not at all, so I had to quit. I was_ this _close to exposing the werewolf world to humanity, Danny,_ this _close. And do you know what the Committee said?”_

“What did they say?” Her voice was weak, like a mouse.

 _“Nothing. They left me in isolation, going through the heartbreak of having my dream destroyed. It was only when I applied to work for them and assured them of my total loyalty did they welcome me.”_ He paused, considering his next words. _“I do know what you’re going through, Danny, and I can understand your hatred for what I’ve been telling you ever since you told me you wanted to be an athlete. I’ve been trying to stop you from going through what I did, way before your time. Obviously it didn’t work.”_

“Maybe you should’ve gone about it a different way,” Danny retorted, and only when she tapped the _End call_ button on her phone did the strength of her anger leave her. His sob story couldn’t account for his actions, absolutely not, but… God, it was tiring. It was tiring fighting for what she believed in when there was a mountain of opposition.

She wouldn’t give up, though. She’d fight for it, totally, to do _something_ in the athletic world. But now she had other things to do. She had important things to do. She had a date to meet.

A date with a broken foot, according to Perry. She wondered how on Earth he’d – Kirsch, apparently – managed to do that. She hoped he wasn’t clumsy or anything. That would mean he was the total opposite of Danny, and she didn’t always work well with opposites.

Still, it did mean she was the one to pick him up, and that was a nice inversion of the sexist traditions that came with dates. She wouldn’t be the one chaperoned around like a kid. It was quite refreshing.

The rest of the preparation for the date went by in a daze, as Danny sorted through her thoughts before the event. She’d got too riled up; she had to calm herself down and let herself enjoy this trip to the theatre with the date she had. Detachedly, she wondered if she’d dressed up too much – but her phone call with her dad had made her a bit late, so she didn’t have time to change. It was a complementary outfit, anyway.

She hopped in the car, and made her way over to Laura’s block of flats. (She couldn’t believe her soulmate was best friends with Laura; it was a bittersweet coincidence that she didn’t want to consider for too long.) It wasn’t too far away – she’d made the journey many times – but now that her conversation with her father had been pushed to the back of her mind, the inevitably of meeting her _soulmate_ gnawed at her confidence. Her numbers were so small now, so it had to be him! She was going to be with this guy for the rest of her life, possibly tell him her deepest secrets. He’d have to know that she was a werewolf one day.

A small part of her recalled the day when she’d watched her numbers fade to a grey smudge on her arm. She remembered the disappointment that came with that.

A small part of her wished she was on her way to meet Laura, that Laura was her soulmate.

Ugh, she’d wanted to push those thoughts aside completely. She’d thought she’d got over Laura, but returning home had made her realise she hadn’t, not quite. And now Laura had her own soulmate; she’d moved on while Danny... hadn’t. Not quite.

There would be no space for those thoughts in her head when she met her soulmate. They’d have to go. They should have been gone _months_ ago.

They were still there when Danny entered the block and dutifully made her way upstairs to Kirsch’s flat, where she waited to collect him.

And, boy, they were _definitely_ there when Kirsch – dressed in some smart pants, a stylish shirt and ( _oh, God_ ) a popped collar – opened the door to show Danny a very messy flat, while greeting her with a grin and the words, “Hey, hottie!”

* * *

 

This was unfair. Totally unfair. Why did Kirsch’s soulmate have to be, like, _crazy?_

She was his soulmate, alright. He’d checked his numbers after he’d greeted her; yeah, she was his soulmate. And he was excited by it being _her_ for about two seconds – before she’d opened her mouth and said, “I hope you don’t always greet women like that.”

He could hear the disdain in her voice, and that kind of bummed him out. But he carried on anyway, because he hadn’t wanted to hide anything from her. She was his soulmate. “Only the hot ones,” he’d shrugged.

Apparently that was the worst thing to say because Danny – that was her name, Perry’d told him – had _not_ liked that one bit.

She’d ranted about him using “sexist language that objectifies women, not least your own soulmate” all the way to the car. He’d got the feeling that it was really bad to use that sort of language ages ago, because Laura often didn’t like him saying it – but sometimes it was hard to stop, y’know? They’d been part of his vocab forever.

He’d try, though, now he knew Danny hated it too. And she’d let him know in the most frustrating, boring way, but at least he knew.

The thing that got him was that he was trying to be courteous – but she’d complained about his broken foot when they’d reached her car. That stung. It wasn’t his fault, and now she was penalising him for it. Besides, he’d been trying to remove Jordanna from a really stupid and dangerous situation (her dealer was an absolute idiot for getting her into that) that he’d found her in one night. She’d been struggling, and she’d dropped something on his foot. He’d fallen, and the ground had been a couple of feet further down than expected. Jordanna had been okay (except still high and still terrified) and he’d broken his foot.

He hadn’t told Danny all of that, though. Bit too heavy for a first date.

“Whatever, I was helping my sister,” he’d grumbled as he tried to get himself in the car. At least it was spacious for him; Danny must have belonged to a super tall family, because the seat was pushed right back and he was thankful for that.

Danny had snorted at that as she’d got into the driver’s seat. She’d put the radio on some Top40 Hits channel and set off pretty quickly.

Despite the radio, Kirsch had tried his hardest to have a decent conversation with her. And it hadn’t worked. Now they were just arguing about soccer teams, about which one was best. His was, duh. But Danny was so insistent that they were shit.

Seriously?

“Have you not _seen_ their last games?” Danny laughed. “That 7-3 failure was impressive, you’ve gotta admit.”

“Your team have suffered too,” Kirsch shot back, embarrassed. He’d known when he’d witnessed that it would come back to bite him. “5-2, remember? And _two_ red cards? You got anything to say about that?”

“That was, like, two years ago. And some of our best players were off that game,” Danny countered. “You had all your good players playing that day, as well.” She paused, thinking. “Well, not _good_ , but…”

“Hey, one of yours got transferred here from your team!”

“And we were glad to see him go,” she offered.

Their love of sports was the only thing they had in common. Everything he liked was too “dudebro” for her, and everything she liked just sucked. The only thing he _was_ impressed with was that she took her running really seriously – sometimes she’d run the outskirts of Silas and even into Styria, because her stamina was crazy high and she got a kick out of it. And she never hurt too bad afterwards. She must have been, like, superhuman or something.

Man, she was so good at her running. And he knew she did it for her job – Laura had told him a lot when she and Danny had been kinda dating – so Kirsch used it as a way to finally make polite conversation.

“How’s your job going? You know, all the running and training and that. I think it’s kinda impressive,” Kirsch tentatively broached the subject, rubbing his neck in embarrassment.

He was hoping for a little smile at the compliment, maybe something more. But, no, he’d messed up again; she sat up completely straight, her eyes trained on the road and her hands clutching the wheel like she depended on it. Instead of an easy conversation, she told him guardedly, “It’s not my job anymore.”

His eyebrows rose quickly. He wasn’t expecting that. “Dude, no. Why?”

“Parents said it was a _crazy dream_ , so they tried to stop me. And my competition didn’t go too well.”

“I thought Laura said you won it?” Kirsch frowned.

Her expression softened when she heard that. “I thought so too, but… Anyway, Laura knows a different story. I can’t tell her everything.”

Okay, there was definitely something in her voice, like wistfulness, when Danny mentioned Laura. Maybe she wasn’t as over Laura as she said she was. So being Danny’s soulmate was totally gonna be an uphill battle that he was gonna have to face. Great. “That sucks, man. I still think your running’s ace, though.”

There wasn’t a single lie in his words, but he didn’t think Danny realised that. She just nodded absent-mindedly.

The rest of the car journey stayed like that – quiet and a bit stifling – for a bit, until Danny started a conversation and got too riled up by his reply. Kirsch rolled his eyes when she’d finished her rant at him; that girl needed to loosen up around him. He wasn’t Bad Guy #1. She’d probably complain to her friends later that he was, though.

When they _finally_ got to the theatre (stupid traffic jam) and got out of the car, Kirsch was only too happy to see it rearing its ugly head. The theatre in Silas was a really dreadful building, but it held the only movie screens in Silas so it was popular day in, day out. There were some restaurants squashed up against it, too, and Kirsch thought about taking Danny there afterwards – if she didn’t stuff her face with popcorn – but she voiced her desire to “just get this over and done with” and that idea immediately went out of his head. He followed her long strides into the building and waited with her to get tickets.

He wished she wasn’t so scary. She was super attractive (he didn’t usually have a thing for gingers, but Danny pulled it off) and really clever, too. She was also friends with Laura, so that meant she was friends with good people.

She was super scary. And crazy. And way too quick to defend a shitty team.

This was going to be torture. Torturous. (He liked that word.)

She didn’t speak until they’d got the tickets. He didn’t remember what film they were going to see, but he wasn’t really bothered.

“Is that – is that Laura and…?” Danny wondered next to him, bringing him back to reality, and his eyes followed where she was looking. _Yeah_ , it was Laura and Carm-sexy! What an awesome coincidence.

“Dudes!” he shouted over to them, swinging his crutches forward and hobbling over to them. They’d been chatting furiously about something or over – he’d caught the words “pop culture has a lot to answer for” from Carmilla – but Carmilla scowled at him when he arrived.

Laura beamed at him. “Hey, Kirsch! I didn’t realise you were going here on your date tonight! Isn’t that great?”

“Perfectly wonderful,” Carmilla muttered quietly.

“Dude, nice corset,” he smiled at her.

“Wasn’t put on for your pleasure, frat boy,” she responded.

Laura elbowed her side. “Be nice,” she warned.

At that point, Danny shuffled over, ready to chastise Kirsch for suddenly wandering off like that. When she saw Laura and Carmilla, though, she stopped the words coming out her mouth. “Kirsch, I swear to God, I can’t be a good date if—oh, hi, Laura!” Her head turned to Carmilla and she nodded. “Blood sucker.”

“Xena.”

“How’s the… business going?”

“Well, like usual. How are your family?” Carmilla replied, the lack of interest in her voice equalling the amount of nervousness in Danny’s.

“…A bit tense.”

This seemed to mean something to Carmilla, who frowned ever so slightly. But it was gone quickly, replaced by usual face of broodiness and… sympathy. No – apathy. Kirsch meant apathy. That was the one where they didn’t care.

Carmilla was good at not caring, unless it was about Laura. Kirsch saw it all over her; she was in love with Laura. He bet she didn’t know it herself, though. And Laura was totally oblivious.

“Are you two friends? You’ve never mentioned each other,” Laura asked. She was just as surprised as he was. This was, like, two worlds colliding for him. It almost made him dizzy.

“We’re not friends,” Carmilla and Danny stressed together. Danny said this with more conviction than Carmilla.

“So… you just know each other?” Laura clarified.

“Unfortunately,” Carmilla confirmed.

“Right! Now that’s cleared up, we have a movie to watch,” the tiny journalist beamed. She linked her arm with Carmilla and told her, “I promise, you’re going to love this movie. _Love Bites_ got really good reviews!”

Kirsch perked up, and interrupted, “Hey, we’re seeing _Love Bites_ too! Dude, we can go together!”

Danny and Carmilla looked pained at that prospect.

* * *

 

Laura was fed up. With everything. In fact, “fed up” didn’t even begin to describe how frustrated she felt right now.

The first few moments of the movie went well. Carm was sitting next to her (wearing a _very_ attractive corset and leather pants piece, which Laura decided she liked very much), scoffing popcorn and making negative comments at the movie. It was entertaining, and Laura appreciated Carmilla’s commentary because – really, the reviews must have been made by 14 year old Twilight fanatics. This movie was awful, so-bad-it-was-good standard at best. She’d been totally wrong about Carmilla liking this, because _she_ didn’t even like it, but she was glad she’d picked it when the illustrator kept cracking jokes about it.

But then Danny and Kirsch had started arguing – and _explosively_ ; Laura didn’t know anyone who could argue as much as they did – and ruined the moment for her and Carmilla. Their battle had frustrated other theatre-goers, too, because a lot of heads had craned over to their direction.

These two were meant to be soulmates. How was that supposed to work, if they couldn’t even stand being in the same room as each other? And how did they manage to bicker like they were married – when they’d known each other for an hour, tops?

Laura’s sighing and harrumphing had got even louder when Carmilla worsened matters by adding in comments. Her nicknames for Kirsch and Danny had irked the both of them – they ranged from “Clifford the Big Red Dog” to “the Jolly Ginger Giant” for Danny, and Carmilla had added “one-legged puppy” to her arsenal of nicknames for Kirsch – and made the arguments worse when both sides of the party became amused by them.

When Laura wasn’t concentrating hard on the film (how had this made it past the script-writing stage? The dialogue was horrific), she was trying to get the three of them to stop. They’d all produced different responses. Danny’s was, “Laura, I have to prove him wrong, you don’t understand!” Kirsch’s was, “Dude, but they’re hounding on me, it’s totally lame!” Carmilla’s reply, said in that velvet voice of hers which somehow managed to infuriate Laura more, was, “ _Whaat?_ It’s fun.”

And then at Laura’s expression: “That bunched up little face you make when you’re angry is hilarious, buttercup.”

She knew that Carmilla had meant it in good jest (her soulmate was leaning against her, after all), but it still annoyed her.

If Carmilla hadn’t wowed her over by all of her courteousness before seeing Danny and Kirsch, she would’ve left the cinema long ago. As it happened, Laura was still waiting for Carmilla to get bored of teasing Laura’s closest friends and get back to commenting on the movie with her. And Carmilla had been so sweet to her. Both had dressed up, and Carmilla had been quick to compliment her (though what Laura was wearing compared to what her _soulmate_ was wearing… well, there was no competition). She’d listened to the journalist’s anxious rambling – and when that stopped, seemed genuinely interested in what was happening at the _Styria Herald_. She had been eager to listen and give comments, and Carmilla had even let Laura put on her favourite radio station – a Top40 radio station – in the car, even though the illustrator clearly despised all of Laura’s favourite music. When they’d walked from the car to the theatre, Carmilla had indiscernibly slipped her hand into Laura’s and interlaced their fingers, which… yeah, Laura had liked a lot. She couldn’t remember when they’d let each other go, but she hadn’t liked it when they had.

What a world away that was from now. Danny and Carmilla were subtly at each other’s throats, and it was absolutely exasperating. Laura hadn’t expected Danny and Carmilla to be like this – hell, to even _know_ each other – in any way, shape or form. As far as she knew, Danny had moved on (she even found her soulmate), and Carmilla had found Laura. There wasn’t any reason for any animosity.

Maybe she’d been too quick to guess her friends’ feelings. But maybe they had some bad blood between which explained how they knew each other.

Whatever it was, it was too much for Laura to take. She was supposed to be having a fun night out with her soulmate, and it had been ruined by her friends’ lack of consideration. So she excused herself and stormed out.

Danny and Kirsch had actually stopped arguing for a total of three seconds, and Kirsch used this opportunity to mutter to Danny, “Trouble in paradise, huh?” Danny must have hit him or something, because Laura heard him yelp, “Why are the hotties always trying to hurt me?” before she left the room.

And she heard someone following her, their heels clicking behind her as she walked. Yeah, it was Carmilla, but she didn’t stop until she got to the entrance room of the theatre. Then, she whipped around to see a concerned look on her soulmate’s face.

“What’s with you?” the illustrator wondered, her dark eyes searching Laura’s.

“What’s with you and Danny?” Laura retorted, folding her arms. “When you two greeted each other, I didn’t expect constant attacks on each other. Especially in the _middle of a movie._ This was meant to be our night, a date night, Carm, and now it’s just… ruined.”

“Our choice of movie wasn’t the wisest, sweetheart.”

“Carmilla!”

At least the illustrator had the decency to look apologetic. She chewed on her lip and looked down, before stepping closer to Laura to close the gap between them.

“And what’s even going on with you two, anyway? How come you’ve known each other but never mentioned it?”

“Her family did me a favour once,” Carmilla answered her question, still managing to keep her quietly unaffected attitude.  “A while ago. Danny was there, too. So I kind of owe them.”

Laura’s raised eyebrows motivated her to carry on.

“She also… I could see instantly when she saw us together that she didn’t like what she saw. She’s jealous, still,” she continued. “My actions in there were a reaction to that. It didn’t help to know that you had a thing going on.”

Danny was still pining for her? Oh, boy. That news made _that_ more complicated. And here she was, thinking they’d both moved on happily.

“Not anymore,” Laura told her with confidence. “Yeah, we got close enough for that, but we – well, evidently only _I_ – moved on. She got too protective.”

Carmilla nodded in understanding, allowing her fingers to brush Laura’s slightly. It was just a touch, asking for permission.

Laura instead wrapped her arms around Carmilla’s waist, hearing her soulmate react to the unexpected action with a small, “Mmf!” Carmilla had told her once that she wasn’t much of a hugger, but Laura definitely was – so Carmilla just took it in.

Carmilla was… solid, but warm. Weirdly, she’d expected Carmilla to be cold to the touch, but she found she was very pleasantly surprised. She felt her soulmate lean her head onto Laura’s and felt the smallest smile seep through her frustration.

“I don’t want you to raise your hackles whenever she’s around. There’s no reason to be protective or whatever, okay?” Laura informed her.

“Sure thing, cupcake.”

Thank God. She’d have to work through this with Danny, though. And she knew better than to expect the nicknames to stop – but it was still a victory nonetheless.

Laura let go, then, though she still held onto Carmilla. “I know that movie is _awful_ and I’m sure everyone watching it is bored to death, but… it wouldn’t hurt to keep Kirsch and Danny from killing each other, would it?”

She felt Carmilla deflate in front of her, and emit a small whine of, “I’m sure they can handle themselves, cutie.”

“Also my bag’s still in there,” Laura blurted.

The illustrator closed her eyes in defeat, let out a small sigh. However, there was a smile on her lips, so Laura wasn’t fooled by her apathetic appearance. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” she answered, relaying Laura’s words back to her.

“Thank you,” Laura grinned, reaching up to kiss her soulmate on the cheek before striding back into the theatre room, Carmilla being dragged behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation (from German to English): Werwolf Ausschuss für Osteuropa - Werewolf Committe for Eastern Europe
> 
> Regular updates every Tuesday and Saturday!
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	10. To Die by Your Side - the Pleasure, the Privilege is Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True natures were revealed and back stories wee stumbled upon. Laura, too, discovered a revelation of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise profusely for not uploading on Tuesday. I'd had A-Level induction classes that had worn me out completely and I've been suffering from a bit of writers' block until today. I also have to tell you that there won't be an upload tomorrow, because I'll be away camping for the weekend. I can assure you, however, that all of my quiet moments over the weekend will be filled with me writing Saturday's chapter for you - and I'll be uploading it as soon as I can for you. The schedule will be back to normal afterwards, you'll be pleased to know.  
> With that in mind, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Chapter title taken from The Smiths // There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

A week since the theatre, and things had quietened down. This, Carmilla supposed, was for the best. Gallivanting around Silas on the tail of her soulmate – and meeting up with the second last person she’d wanted to see decorated in the reflection on her irises (whose broken arms would’ve healed by the time she’d unfortunately met up with Clifford and the one-legged puppy) – meant that she’d become woefully behind on her commissions. Unless she worked for 48 hours straight at full creative flow, it would be impossible for her to catch up on all the artwork she was yet to do. She could feel the first stirrings of impatience from her whole array of clients (articulated by LaFontaine’s subtle insistence), some of whom were depending on the process being painless and quick. Their work would not sell without it.

The fact was that Carmilla did not possess the ability to immerse herself in a full creative flow for 48 consecutive hours; neither did she possess the ability to stay alert for that amount of time. Her 334 years of existence meant she’d tried on many occasions, but was not willing to attempt this again. A girl needed her sleep, regardless of whether she had a vampiric constitution or not.

Her clients were also under the impression that she was committed to pleasing them. They were completely mistaken; she was committed to the obligation that the contracts put her under. She cared not for their books, magazines and the like. She cared for the artwork that she was told to make for them. She cared for the way her hazy ideas and second guesses came to life with a flourish on the papers and canvases in front of her. She cared for the calm that they elicited from her, for the small burst of satisfaction and pride when she did something particularly well. She cared for the sound of pencil upon paper, brushstroke upon canvas; the picture of the painting, catching the light in just the right way to create an enlightening effect, forever imprinted on her mind.

She cared not for the clients. She cared for the peace of mind their requests brought.

Except Will’s. That did not bring her anything of the sort. She was an ocean with her artwork, submersed in the sun’s light. She was ebbing and flowing serenely as the seagulls crowed in delight above her. However. With Will’s _Careless Escape_ , she was the storm and the furious ocean, the roaring thunder. Her waves of dread reared to a great height and came down on the rest of the ocean with a calamitous force, and the sea spat out her frustration in the form of the oceanic white foam that accompanied each surge.

When she’d thrown the book and that god-awful commission in the trash, her ocean had subsided to an extent. Yet the rumble of the thunder had not faded.

Carmilla wasn’t the only one who had needed some time to catch up on the responsibilities that didn’t include their social lives. Laura’s previously perfect standard of work had been slipping, especially as Carmilla’s nocturnal habits meant that she’d bitten into the time Laura originally used to finish off and edit her articles. While they were both fortunate that Laura’s current article was about Carmilla (Perry had transferred the task to Laura because she knew Laura would be able to tackle it with less resulting violence), the topic was about the art competition and Carmilla would’ve preferred painting _relevant_ art had it not been a chance to talk to the journalist. Still, if it meant that Laura would be in her boss’ good books again, then it was something she would try to help. Even if she did complain about it for the entirety of Laura’s interrogations and (when 2am was in their sights) pleas for assistance.

That night Laura had gone to bed while still phoning Carmilla, and had fallen asleep halfway through a conversation about the unnecessary bickering within the office. Laura had sleepily expressed her surprise at Perry and LaFontaine arguing quietly as they walked into Laura’s office today, and then Carmilla had found herself listening to Laura’s soft snores.

Carmilla couldn’t have helped the smile appearing on her face when she’d ended the call.

The rest of the week had passed without consequence; she finished her commissions, Laura finished her article and promptly started the research for her new one, and Danny and Kirsch continued to infuriate each other. On the occasions that she saw Danny – the wolves had heightened their security ever since Will’s return – she’d faux-innocently ask about it. It was all harmless, really, and it was nothing diabolical. Danny had found it was a great opportunity to interrogate her about Will’s return.

Carmilla hadn’t wanted to discuss that with anyone, never mind the pining ex of her soulmate.

At the weekend, drained from an attempt to finish the newest commission LaFontaine had thrown her way, it occurred to her that the radio silence she’d heard from Will and the clan had the potential to be dangerous. For whom, it didn’t matter; Carmilla just wanted to be away from this situation altogether, especially at a time when she and Laura were getting closer.

She needed to shake those thoughts away. Determined to distract herself, she had a quick shower, changed into more comfortable clothing (black jeans and a band top, nothing special) and sent a text to Laura.

_Nocturnal Grump (18:59): What do you say we watch that series you’re always talking about at my apartment, creampuff? Presuming you’re not researching for another of your fantastical articles on the unsubstantial._

Carmilla had once let slip that vampire culture mildly interested her. (At the time, it had been the only way to brush off Laura’s inquisitiveness about the joke she’d just cracked without really thinking about it.) Carmilla naturally regretted this, now Laura had insisted that the illustrator _was_ going to watch it even it killed her.

In her centuries of life and non-life, she’d fought off several vampires, humans skilled in the art of self-defence who were desperate to survive, and even a deranged hybrid werewolf. And yet, Carmilla found it highly possible that watching a crummy television series (that she was certain she would dislike thoroughly) may have just been the thing to finish her off for good. At least, if she were to die, it would be by the tiny journalist’s side.

Laura’s reply wasn’t instantaneous (like usual), but it wasn’t slow, either.

 _Cupcake (19:05): Carm, reporting on the communities in Styria is an important part of_ The Styria Herald _. It’s how people connect with their area!_

Carmilla rolled her eyes. Of course Laura would jump to defend that.

_Cupcake (19:05): But I would love to come to your house. When do you want me over?_

_Nocturnal Grump (19:07): As soon as your little legs allow, if possible_

_Cupcake (19:07): Carmilla. You’re literally only one inch taller than me >:(_

_Nocturnal Grump (19:08): At least I don’t use a stool to reach the highest cupboard_

_Cupcake (19:09): Because you’re too lazy to reach up there!!_

She did have a point.

_Cupcake (19:12): On my way to yours :)_

Laura had envisioned blankets upon blankets, closeness, and cups of cocoa. (The journalist had even brought cocoa with her in her backpack.) Carmilla had envisioned champagne and long talks, with episodes fit in between. Needless to say, her soulmate had been surprised when she’d seen the “ _ludicrously_ expensive” champagne handed to her as soon as she’d set foot inside Carmilla’s apartment.

Every time Laura came to the illustrator’s house, she was won over by its sleekness, its style. She knew Carmilla well enough to know that she could be a total slob – lazy, untidy, with an unwavering ability to have her hair accumulate in the shower drain – so its seeming contradiction to the rest of Carmilla’s personality must have put Laura in almost permanent wonder.

“You look like you’ve just seen an angel,” Carmilla commented, sprawled out on the sofa as she searched on her smart TV for the series. She watched in amusement as Laura’s attention went to her. “If so, I’m very flattered.”

Laura blushed. “Just – how did you afford all of this? It must have been _so_ expensive.”

Carmilla shrugged, “Family allowance.” She patted the space next to her on the sofa. “Come on, then. Let’s get this torture over with.”

Laura floated her way over to the sofa and plonked herself down next to her soulmate. Carmilla felt herself relax immediately. “You’re going to enjoy this whether you want to or not,” Laura warned, and her supposedly threatening tone in Laura’s voice would have been intimidating had Laura not been wearing a beige dress fit for a schoolgirl and an equally dorky backpack.

Carmilla had been wrong. This ray of sunshine before her was going to be the death of her, not the program Laura desperately wanted her to watch.

“How threatening,” Carmilla mused, taking a sip of her champagne. Her grin became wider at Laura’s scrunched up face – but before her soulmate could reply, she pressed play on her remote and the series started.

An hour or so into the session, it was clear that Laura had other things on her mind than _The Vampire Diaries_. “Carm, look! It’s snowing!”

The sun had long set and before Laura had arrived at her house, Carmilla had gazed at the Moon from the window. Her reminder to close the curtains again had slipped from her mind; now Laura stared at the thick, fast snowflakes through the window as they drifted towards the ground outside.

 _Having a soulmate certainly has its perks_ , Carmilla reflected. While the usual ones – for example, having someone to spend the rest of your days with (something the vampire would not have the pleasure of experiencing) – were perks she appreciated, she admittedly appreciated the other benefits that came with it. This included being distracted by Laura when her childlike and innocent enthrallment at the falling snow stopped the two from watching this particular episode. The tiny gay journalist (that Carmilla was so enthralled with) had been watching with wonder at the tiny flakes of ice, but the vampire realised there was something behind her excitement. Nostalgia.

“My mom and I used to play in the snow, when I was younger,” Laura spoke up, her eyes glazed over as she fixed her mind on a memory. “She’d be as excited as I was about the snow. She used to sing to me when we were putting on our winter clothes. She had the – the nicest voice. It was soft, fluttery. And then we’d go out into the front yard and make snowmen. I’d make a snow dog, too, every year. Sometimes Dad joined in. It was – it was fun.”

There was sadness etched into her, every fibre of her. Carmilla sat up, intently watching as the brightness in Laura’s eyes flickered and faded. The illustrator’s hand found her soulmate’s, and her lips trembled as she figured how to broach the subject.

Laura did it for her. “My parents had a car accident. I was 11. My dad survived, but she died on impact. I know it was, like, 13 years ago, but some things still just remind me of her.”

Carmilla didn’t quite know what to say. She’d never been a shining example of being good at the feelings thing. So she just mumbled, “I’m sorry,” and rubbed her thumb across the back of Laura’s hand.

Laura just closed her eyes slightly and nodded. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” Then she shot up in her posture suddenly. “Can I go and get a drink of water? Is that okay?”

“Of course, cupcake. You can make yourself at home.”

Laura thanked her with a kiss on the cheek – which Carmilla _hadn’t_ been expecting and was still in shock afterwards, just like the first time at theatre – and moved off into the kitchen to grab a glass.

A knock on her apartment door brought the vampire back to her senses; frowning, she rose off the sofa and ambled over to the eyepiece in the door. As soon as she realised who it was, dusted in the snow still falling outside, she reared back and swung open the door in her irritation. So this was why Will had been quiet? Will had sent _this_ guy to annoy her? He looked like he was about to _cry_. “Do you know how dangerous this errand is? The werewolves are not going to be cautious as they were last time you were, you _idiot_.”

The boy simply pushed past her and walked into the middle of the living/dining room, where he stood with his fists clenched and fear in his eyes. “Carmilla, I have to talk to you,” he trembled. “This is – this is the final warning. The clan aren’t going to wait any longer. You have to come back.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. Not while she was here, trying to forget about this whole problem. How had Will even found her apartment, anyway? Had LaFontaine given it to him?

“I’m warning you,” Carmilla growled, fangs almost on show. “If you don’t get out of my apartment in five seconds, I will tear out your spine!”

“Carmilla, are you like a secret transplant surgeon or something? Because it looks like you left a packet of blood out on the counter,” Laura was loudly asking her soulmate quite casually as she made her way into the living/dining room, and Carmilla froze.

This was not meant to happen. This was the last thing on Earth that Carmilla had imagine would happen, executed in a horribly awkward way. This was the one thing that Carmilla did _not_ want to ha—

A soft _thump_ and a few _splash_ es sounded behind her as Laura dropped the glass she’d been holding.

“You’re supposed to be dead!”

* * *

 

This didn’t make sense.

This made absolutely no sense.

Carmilla was staring at Laura, concern etched on her face, but Laura hardly noticed her. Her attention was on the other person in the room. He was gazing at her through the top of his eyelids, his jaw tight and his lips mashed together in a frown.

He was supposed to be dead. He was supposed to have died, two years ago. He was not supposed to be standing in front of her, while her best friend was gazing mournfully at his face in photo frames and trying to stop their sister from destroying herself.

Laura felt the goosebumps rise on her skin. This was… wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be here. She couldn’t find a reason why he could be here.

“Michael,” she blurted. She didn’t know what else to say.

Michael’s eyes immediately widened and he took a step back. “How do you know me?” he demanded.

Carmilla was frowning in confusion at the both of them now, but Laura kept her eyes trained on her best friend’s dead brother.

“Kirsch. I mean – Wilson,” she gave him. The journalist just wanted to get to the bottom of why and _how_ he was here. “How are you standing here? You were killed. You’re… you’re dead.”

He looked pallid, and his eyes were sunken. But it didn’t look inhuman, not really. He didn’t look inhuman. Laura must have looked like that sometimes, when she’d had very little sleep.

His eyes flickered to the illustrator’s, and it was only now that Laura saw how… terrified he looked. Everything about him was screaming fright and innocence. She knew he would be 21 by now – he was still young. Come on, he’d been _murdered_ at 19. That had to leave some emotional trauma.

If he’d actually been killed, that was. His presence cast doubt on that.

Oh God, how was Kirsch going to react to this? Laura couldn’t keep this from her friend.

Carmilla gave him a non-committal gesture in response – and Laura frowned. Carmilla had just learned that Michael was dead. How was she taking this so calmly? What the hell was going on? Laura shot her a confused look but Carmilla looked down.

“That’s… true,” the dead guy in front told her, and her head turned to him again. “I was killed. I’m dead. But I’m right here, too.”

“I can see that,” Laura snapped. Then she quelled her irritation, it wouldn’t help the situation. “So… you definitely were killed?”

He nodded. “Mother saved me. I was brought back to life and she took me under her wing.”

Mother? What—? Whatever, she could ask about that later. “Why didn’t you come back? To your family? You were running around with this… Mother while your family were barely getting through each day!”

Something in Michael shattered even further, and his sulking expression immediately broke into a pained one. He opened his mouth to reply, but Carmilla cut him off.

“It doesn’t work like that.”

Laura’s head snapped to her, her brow furrowing further. “ _What?_ ”

The illustrator’s tone was low, lamenting. “The clan rules mean you can’t go back to your old life. You’re part of the clan, no matter what. Unless you leave.”

“You can’t le—” Michael started to say.

“Your opinion wasn’t wanted, dead boy,” she cut him off viciously.

“You can’t use that as an insult when you know it applies to you,” Michael retorted, and the illustrator’s expression darkened further.

“Carmilla…” Laura swallowed the lump in her throat. “Carmilla, how do you know this? What do you mean? How do you know each other?”

“Fine. I clearly don’t have any alternative,” her soulmate muttered to herself, from where she’d collapsed on the sofa. “Think about it, cutie. Blood packet in the kitchen. Constantly nocturnal. Ties to a boy who was killed two years ago. You’re clever; work it out.”

It took a few seconds, but when Laura reached the answer she wasn’t willing to accept it. It was _ludicrous_. It didn’t exist. It was just folklore, mythical and _totally didn’t exist_.

Right?

Except the clues _were_ there. Laura was standing there with someone who was _dead_ , in a house that had so many expensive or priceless objects in that it would take _years_ to save up for. Or… centuries. Plus, this was Silas. All sorts of freaky happenings went on down here. This wasn’t even the most far-fetched story she’d heard in her 24 years of life.

So it was true.

“Oh, God,” Laura whined. “You’re vampires. You’re both vampires. Great. I’m a human in a room with two vampires. Because that’s not dangerous.” She started edging back away from them.

“Correct, except we’re not here to eat you,” Carmilla replied – far more casually than Laura had expected, given she’d just _admitted to being a vampire_. The illustrator got up off the sofa and walked towards Laura. “Trust me, cupcake, if I’d wanted to eat you, I could’ve done it the first night we met.”

“You eat people!”

“Not so much anymore, cutie,” Carmilla shook her head. A small smirk flittered across her face – and yeah, okay, Laura knew what was going through Carm’s mind, and she _definitely_ didn’t mean it in that way – but then her soulmate became serious again. (God, her _soulmate_ was a vampire.) “Kind of hard to stay in one place and feed on humans without alerting your precious community.”

Laura knew she was jittery around her, and that was disappointing her (Laura just knew it), but these weren’t usual circumstances. It wasn’t every day that you found out your soulmate’s primary source of sustenance to get them the day was a glass of A negative instead of a beverage full of caffeine.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Laura.” Carmilla’s eyes were shining with reluctance and hope, and her voice was so… gentle. That Laura hadn’t expected, and it threw her off so much that she realised how much truth Carmilla had spoken in those words. It was truth, a promise, and an exposure. Of herself.

Badass illustrator Carmilla Karnstein, whom Laura now knew was a vampire and could easily kill Laura if she wanted to, was opening up to her. An image of the vampire’s painting of Laura flashed in her mind – and she knew this was what Carmilla had meant when she’d told the journalist that she didn’t fully understand the reasons behind her worry. Carmilla had been worried about Laura’s reaction to her being a vampire.

Laura took Carmilla’s hand and gave her a small smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Her soulmate’s relieved smile made it all worth it. (Though they really were going to have to talk about this.)

A polite cough interrupted their little moment, and both women turned their heads to see Michael. “I didn’t come here to watch a bonding moment.”

Carmilla tensed again and turned to face him, not letting go of Laura’s hand. “You already know my answer. I’m not going back. I have a life here now.”

“Carmilla… you know you can’t leave,” Michael tried again. “It’s a part of you, that’s what I’ve been told. Look, I don’t like it, either, okay? I don’t like the clan. B—”

“So why don’t you leave?” Laura interrupted. “If – if Kirsch and Jordanna and your parents get used to you being around then you can see them. You can have a normal life here in Silas. Carm did.” At the last sentence, Laura glanced at her soulmate.

She noticed that a new sort of reverence had entered her voice, entered her heart. And Laura was 95% sure she knew what that meant.

That was _huge_.

She was interrupted from her internal enraptured monologue by Michael’s suddenly eager words. “Do you think I could do that? I could see them?”

“You know it’s forbidden to see your old family again,” Carmilla warned. “Besides, you’re just a kitten. You don’t know about vampire life. The clan helps you learn. And, if I seem to remember correctly, _you_ were just trying to force me _back_.”

Laura had absolutely no idea what they were talking about. She knew hardly anything about vampire life – but for now she was glad they were leaving her out of this. She had two revelations to deal with right now.

Michael shook his head. “The clan holds nothing for me. They wouldn’t know if I went.”

“You don’t know that.”

The vampire opposite them scoffed and shifted in his position. “Our numbers equal the Lawrence family’s. They’re not going to miss me.”

Laura felt her soulmate’s body tense in front of her. All she could do to help was to squeeze her hand on Carmilla’s comfortingly.

(The journalist immediately thought of Danny – but that was stupid, Danny wouldn’t be connected to this. Plus, she was certain many people had the same surname as her.)

“What is Mother planning, Michael?”

At this, her best friend’s brother seemed to remember on which side he belonged. “I… can’t tell you.”

Laura tuned in at this moment. The information that Carmilla wanted seemed important, so she thought she’d try to help. “Then leave. Come see Kirsch and Jordanna.”

“Cupcake—”

“They miss you,” she pleaded. “They’re barely getting through it. Jordanna’s gone off the rails and Kirsch is worried for her too. And you miss them too.”

Michael stared intensely at her, the lack of intention to talk ringing through the air. Laura trusted Carmilla, but she wasn’t totally okay with Michael; her heartbeat picked up even _more_ in fright under his stare. Her soulmate moved in front of her marginally, keeping her close – but he didn’t lunge at them.

He vanished through the door of the living/dining room and out of the apartment.

Laura let out a sigh of relief at his disappearance and turned to get Carmilla’s attention – but the vampire was already facing her, gazing at her with an intensity not too dissimilar to Michael’s. Laura stumbled back, but Carmilla reined her in again.

“I imagine you want to talk about this.”

* * *

 

The streets were dark, except for the striking lightness of the snow still falling around Michael. He didn’t care about the snow like he used to – he just ran, through the winding streets of Silas and back to his current settlement.

He knew these streets, he’d journeyed across them so much when he was alive. He knew them like the back of his own hand.

He didn’t think he knew the people inside the city anymore. A lot could happen in two years. A lot had happened to him in two years.

He didn’t think the people inside the city would recognise him anymore. Maybe that was for the better.

But maybe it _wasn’t_ – Silas was as much a part of him as the clan was, because he’d lived here all his life. His family lived here, and they were more important to him than the undead creatures he now had to replace Wilson, Jordanna and his parents with.

He didn’t _like_ the vampires. He wasn’t one of them. He couldn’t see himself laughing about how his last victim had pleaded for survival in this unusual way, or that unorthodox way. He couldn’t see himself crowing in delight about how many innocent people he’d slaughtered. When he’d fed on humans, he’d never taken enough to kill them. It made him permanently hungry, that was true, but he refused to have another crying family eating away at his conscience.

He already had one of those. That was enough for him.

As Michael weaved through the streets, now more dirt paths than anything else, his thoughts settle back onto his family. His real family. Wilson, Jordanna and his parents. What did Laura mean by Jordanna going off the rails? Was she really that troubled?

His little sister. He’d done that to his little sister. Michael still remembered when, at the age of 12, the 9-year-old Jordanna had run straight to him in school when she’d been picked on by the nasty girls in her class. Michael had gone over to them and given them a piece of his mind, all just for his sister. They’d always been close, always been there to help each other.

And now he was dead, Jordanna was distancing herself from the people who loved her most.

He had to stop that. He had to stop that somehow. Just _how_ , he didn’t know.

He could figure it out.

He was being followed, he knew. The wolves were onto him. Will had told him after they’d met Carmilla that night that _Lophiiformes_ members were only allowed in Styria two times – on the third, they had a custom of staking the invader. That had been Michael’s first trip into Styria after his death, and Will’s second. That meant Will’s return into Styria, should he return, would get him killed.

This was Michael’s second time in Styria. If he came back, he had to leave the clan and stay in Silas. He had to convince the werewolves that he was on his side.

He had to make a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular updates every Tuesday and Saturday!
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	11. I Kept Running for a Soft Place to Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny had to admit that things weren't going as well as they could have been. Even LaFontaine and Perry's problem couldn't stop them from seeing that Laura was acting different; Laura herself had a lot to sort through, and a decision to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, from now on, it'll all be regular. (It turns out I hadn't finished my battle with writers' block, which was... fun.)
> 
> Work title taken from Runaway // AURORA.

The first thing that crossed Danny’s mind when she walked into Lily’s room was that she was impressed with how messy Lily managed to make any place she inhabited. (Really, she was pretty sure it was a challenge her little sister had taken on.) Danny would even go as far to say that it paralleled Kirsch’s untidiness. The second thing that crossed her mind was that Lily was as strong as she was messy – and this was proven when Lily’s hug caught her by surprise and knocked her back a few inches.

“Hey, Lils,” Danny greeted her, glad to be in the presence of the sibling she was closest to. Her brothers and sisters, of which she had _plenty_ , were never as close to Danny as Lily was (except Jackson sometimes). They did all possess the ability to be extremely irritating, though.

“You made it!” her sister grinned beneath her. (Lily had ended up shorter than her siblings like her father, while most of the Lawrence children were around or over six feet tall – it exaggerated the position of Lily as the youngest daughter, and she secretly loved it. Lily had also inherited the blonde gene slightly, even though it had turned out a strange mix between blonde and ginger.) “Man, it’s been so long! Okay, sit – you’re only here if you’ve got something to say, so spill.” Lily promptly sat back down in her office chair and Danny perched on Lily’s bed.

There was something very soft and entirely not duvet-like as she sat down, and Danny gingerly extracted it from underneath her. She nearly flung it across the room; it was lacy underwear, too small to fit Lily’s body. She immediately knew what this meant, and eloquently communicated her disgust in a repugnant chastising. “Lily! Jesus, at least your check damn bed before I sit on one of your girlfriends’ lacy underwear.” Danny had been completely unconcerned when Lily had announced her preference to have multiple romantic partners (and although this clearly spanned across all genders, they tended to be girls), but that didn’t mean she was okay with getting a glimpse into what went on with them behind closed doors. This was her little sister, who – in Danny’s mind – was still three foot tall and wiggling her then-really blonde self to Madonna without any cares in the world.

“Sorry, sorry,” Lily scowled, snatching the offending item and shoving it in a drawer somewhere. “I think that might have been Brittany’s. She came over earlier, so.”

Great. “Too much information, Lils.”

“Right, sorry.” Lily was back in her chair again, legs crossed and hair flowing down her right side as she studied her older sister. “…So? We don’t have all day; you’ll have a patrol later, won’t you?”

Why was she being like this? Oh, yes, she knew why – because suddenly everything was upside down in her life. She’d gone from having a singular purpose in life while Lily fretted over her college major to having Lily comfort her in her woes made from life choices. The cool composure her little sister while Danny was constantly on edge made her feel so _unnerved_ , like the world had been turned on its axis and left had officially become right. And it wasn’t right for Danny to pin this on Lily – because Lily was trying to get through the hard slog before launching her career like she’d done, and she was just trying to be there for her sister – but everything felt so unbalanced, uncoordinated.

That was why she struggled to get the words out. “So, I applied for night courses in personal training,” she informed the other woman in the room, glad Lily’s roommate was out again. She wouldn’t have been able to get it out otherwise. “I start next week.”

Lily’s face immediately broke into a grin. “Hey, that’s cool! Well done. Now you’re on the right path. You’ll be back on the track in no time, Dan.”

Danny just smiled modestly. If she was honest, Lily’s words sounded exactly like her parents’. At least there wasn’t the relief behind them that Danny had _finally_ chosen a suitable career, unlike what she’d heard from parents and what had hit her like a truck when they’d said it.

“If you find a cute chick or guy in your class, let me know,” Lily added, the grinning only spreading wider, and Danny found herself chuckling. “No, wait, you got Kirsch, haven’t you? No personal trainer partners, then. Damn, I was hoping for some abs. Sorry, Dan, you’re gonna have to go without.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure on that,” she responded, and felt her cheeks heat up at the words that had slipped out of her mouth. Where the _hell_ had they come from? And _why?_ What in God’s name had made her unconsciously think – and _say_ – those words? She backtracked quickly at the sight of Lily’s bemused expression, “Like, he’s _such_ a frat boy, so he probably works out just to maintain his dudebro image or something.”

“Oh, boy,” Lily smirked, leaning forward in her chair with her eyes latching onto sister’s, hungry for information. “Your soulmate’s a frat boy? This is _amazing_.”

Danny rolled her eyes and proceeded to launch into a five minute rant about how it totally _wasn’t_ amazing and how annoying Kirsch was.

She’d been aiming to put Lily firmly on her side, but she positively beamed at the mention of him. “He sounds like a puppy,” Lily remarked when she’d finished, which was something Danny was sure Carmilla had said at least once (and probably a few more times in Laura’s presence, which made her annoyed that she was annoyed about that). “I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Lily, _no_ ,” Danny warned her, hugging her legs now and giving her little sister a death glare. “Don’t cross over to that side. Please.”

Lily just laughed, a care-free laugh that Danny wished she could emulate but couldn’t right now, and replied with, “When we meet I’m so gonna mush his cheeks.” Before Danny could move her face from the current horrified expression she held to something capable of achieving speech, Lily breezed ahead. “Hey, any wolfie news? I kinda miss being in the loop.”

“Wolfie news” was practically “family news”, so Danny relayed any information about the Lawrences as best she could – about how “Omega” (the teasing nickname given to Jackson by his friend that Lily used as well) had landed a part-time job at the local garage, about how Liam had totally embarrassed the family by his drinking _again_ , about how Grandma and Grandpa came to visit and Bella had nearly had a panic attack when introducing Billy to them.

Lily was entertained by all of these stories and more, and it was in telling them that Danny relaxed a bit. For the most part, talking about her family was easy. Except for Jackson and Lily, Danny wasn’t particularly close with her siblings (helped by the fact that there were a lot of them and they all were doing their own things, usually) – but it was still fun to talk about the things they’d caught up on whenever they could. She cared for them, for all of them, and they all had a duty to protect one another and the territory.

Wolf families were meant to be tight-knit, but Danny’s position on her career had stopped that to some extent. Now she had nothing to show for it, they were slowly but surely warming up to her. Just a thoughtful little message here and there, or a hug when Danny visited her family house. It was bittersweet, and possibly the only perk she’d experienced from having her dream destroyed.

Besides, moving out had meant that she’d missed their wacky stories, and reliving them now brought back the smile on her face that was usually all too fleeting.

“Somehow I knew Becca had something to do with that,” Lily responded with a beam. Danny had recalled the story of how the Lawrences had almost had their house burnt down after they were all too paralysed to move – the cause of that being Becca’s faulty lighter and a clumsy hand. (Surprisingly for a werewolf – or unsurprisingly, because they knew what Becca was like – she was always mysteriously around when something caught fire or exploded.)

“Mom did tell her it’s a dangerous habit,” Danny noted, and Lily’s smile only widened when her eyes flickered back to her younger sister.

A small moment of silence. “I miss them,” Lily admitted. “Uni’s great, it so is, but… I miss teasing Dad or being chased by Liam or going on patrol.”

“You miss the _patrols?_ ” Danny reacted, shocked. They were pretty unpopular; mandatory, long, and – for the large part – uneventful, everyone almost always complained about them. Only the romantics of the family would actually admit to liking them (or, not least, the views). “Jesus, Lily, what’s got into you?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Lily winked, spinning around in her chair. “Yeah, I think I’ll secretly be a bit relieved when this is over. Then you’ll say you need me to be running again and then wish I hadn’t returned.”

And there it was. Danny had to broach this topic of conversation now. While part of her wanted to hold back, thinking that Lily didn’t deserve this added pressure – not when she was nearly done with university – she knew Lily deserved to know. So she could help.

“Actually. We might need you now.”

All lightness flooded from her little sister and she stopped spinning. Seriousness wasn’t Lily’s thing, and the fact that Lily had accepted it as easily as she did made Danny curse the threatening vampires that were wanting to fuck everything up. “Tell me.”

Danny took a breath. “Two vampires from the _Lophiiformes_ clan trespassed into Silas recently –” the low growl that escaped Lily’s lips was something that, really, Danny should have expected “– and we think they met up with Carmilla. We don’t know _why_ she met up with them, she won’t tell us, but they clearly have an agenda. One of them – Will, we think his name is – has already been here twice, and that was his last time. The other one – do you remember the Kirsch kid who disappeared two years ago? Yeah, Michael, it’s him – he visited again even more recently to talk to Carmilla. It’s clear that the clan have been planning something, something _big_. They’ve already wiped out the _Obsidia_ clan. Neither of them are have returned after Michael’s last visit, but whatever they’re planning, it’s dangerous. I don’t want to put you in danger, Lils, I really don’t, but… you know what will happen if they go as far as we anticipate they’re willing to.”

Lily nodded. She did know. The _Lophiiformes_ clan were capable of taking down a Fenris or Lawrence official (the Fenris werewolf family being the most powerful family, that was); if they were to kill a Fenris or Lawrence, chaos would ensue. The vampire-werewolf alliance formed after the Ancient Beast War was especially weak in these parts – and while their mom and dad had been trying their hardest to strengthen it, there were still werewolves out there who would jump at the chance to fight a few vampires again. And using the excuse of a Fenris/Lawrence murder suited them just fine. In addition to this, the numbers of the _Lophiiformes_ clan (numbers they still weren’t sure of) meant that, if that happened, then the resultant battle could be classed as reinstating the war.

“I’ll be there,” Lily reassured her. “Time and tide wait for no werewolf; if you need me, I’ll be there.” A soft sigh came from her lips, and she added, “Let’s hope they’re not as crazy as we think they are.”

Honestly? Danny knew not to think that positively. Something told her there wasn’t going to be a happy way out of this.

* * *

 

The sun rose after Perry did. She’d got used to it by now; feeling her way through the darkness of the bedroom to flip on the light in the kitchen. LaFontaine was still asleep, as they always were at this time, so Perry made breakfast for herself and for her partner too. She loved being married to them, with every part of her, partly because no one else could understand how much Perry put into her graceful routine. And when LaFontaine woke up with a grateful smile on their face, every morning, Perry was thankful that her foolishness in their college years had not separated them forever.

Perry liked normal, that much could be said. When LaF had been their true self behind the person they projected themselves as – Susan, the girl, just to please everybody – that had been her normal with them. When they’d confided that they were ready to not be Susan anymore, Perry had reacted selfishly, and had pushed them away because it didn’t fit with her idea of normal.

Because of her actions, Perry had nearly lost her best friend, her rock – and to top all of the clichés off – her one true love for good. But luckily, it became a _nearly_ , because Perry had come crawling back when she accepted them for who they truly were. From then on, the two had been even more inseparable, and had become closer in that special way only soulmates could ever identify with. Perry guided LaFontaine through all of their reckless behaviour, making sure to keep them from straying onto too a dangerous path. In return, LaF kept Perry from going over the edge with her own actions, calming her down when things got too much for her mothering ways.

Falling in love with LaFontaine had been expected. While she’d known it wouldn’t be easy – and life had certainly shown that – she knew it was more than worth it. It was worth it with every glance LaFontaine shot her way when they thought she couldn’t see them; it was worth it with every sly kiss LaF snuck in when Perry was making dinner for them or when it became their way of thanking her for cleaning up during or after their wild experiments. It was worth it when Perry watched her other half wake up groggily and break into a sleepy smile at the sight of their wife bringing them breakfast.

LaFontaine and Perry didn’t always see eye-to-eye on some subjects – on sometimes very important discussions – but frankly she wouldn’t change what they had for anything.

“Good morning, sweetie,” Perry chirped as LaFontaine sat up. She perched on the edge of the bed and handed her significant other their coffee and eggs on toast.

“Morning, Perr,” LaF grinned back, taking the sustenance and pecking Perry’s lips affectionately. The warmth that rushed through her from the simple action made her smile, every time. “Thank you for this. It’s perfect.”

“All for you, dear,” the editor smiled, caressing LaFontaine’s arm lovingly. “Are you going to be joining us this morning, or will one of your artists be needing you?”

LaFontaine put down their drink on the bedside cabinet. “Um, not that I know of. You haven’t allowed me to see my phone yet,” they chuckled.

“Well, finding out would be helpful. Visiting Laura and Kirsch is always a nice occasion.”

LaFontaine nodded in agreement – they’d refrained from talking with their mouth full from an early age when they’d saw how much it displeased Perry – as they scooped up their phone and scrolled through their email inbox. Swallowing, they supplied Perry with, “Amanda’s being pushy again about her portfolio; she’ll want me to see to that. And that Will Luce guy is really insistent. Nothing else for Carmilla or anyone else, though.” They turned to face their wife properly. “Talking about the aloof vampire, do you think she’s the reason why Laura wasn’t responding last night?”

So, yes, Perry had been a bit worried about Laura’s lack of responding. It had stopped suddenly, and she _still_ hadn’t replied (as far as Perry knew). There was only so much radio silence Perry could take. LaF had done all they could to calm her down, but it hadn’t helped that a crime detective program had been playing on the TV in front of them, rolling out the story of the particularly gruesome murder of a seemingly innocent girl.

LaF quickly scoffed down the rest of their breakfast while Perry mulled over that, one of her hands still stroking them fondly. “That seems plausible,” Perry mused finally, before recognising the allusive tone in LaFontaine’s voice. She quickly chastised them. “LaFontaine Perry! We can’t know until they tell us themselves. Falling in love with your soulmates can happen later rather than sooner, you know. It happened later for us.”

“Yeah, but, we were _five_ when we met,” LaF reminded her, now finished with their breakfast. They rolled out of bed and moved to the wardrobe to select clothes for the day. “And Carmilla’s already whipped.”

“My point still stands, sweetie.” She paused. “Wait – how are you sure about Carmilla being… “whipped”?”

Her other half chuckled. “Perr, have you _seen_ Carmilla lately? She doesn’t have that murderous expression on her face 100% of the time, for one. Plus they’re always messaging each other. If they’re not in an already established relationship, they’re gonna be pretty darn close to it.”

 _I suppose that could be true_ , Perry thought. She collected the art agent’s dishes and swished off to the kitchen to wash up, parting with a, “Don’t forget to tell me if you’re going to visit the office this morning!”

As it happened, the agent had already decided that they weren’t going to. Amanda, one of their artists they represented, was on the edge of a mental breakdown, and LaFontaine really didn’t want to be the one who caused to tip over that very malleable edge. Perry was convinced that Amanda needed to sort herself out regardless, and that she gave LaF too much of a hard time anyway. Besides, they always enjoyed being able to chat with Perry’s co-workers – and the editor they had a soft spot for Laura and Kirsch. They were lightly debating this as they got in the car (Perry’s own car was in the garage, and she really couldn’t get used to the feel of LaF’s, so her favourite person was essentially being her chauffeur for the time being), and by the time they were nearly at _The Styria Herald_ , LaFontaine had successfully been convinced to stay. Perry’s expression was one of a smug pride, but LaF loved it.

Breaking the comfortable silence as the last few roads to _The Styria Herald’s_ offices was Perry’s phone; the ringtone rang out before she snatched it up and swiped to unlock the phone. It was her brother, Lewis; he’d managed to reply after putting his son to bed. (Lewis always responded with long messages, had a habit of doing so, which meant he really did need some time to himself before he could reply. Because of this, she didn’t see his name pop up too often.)

“Who’s that?” LaFontaine wondered innocently.

“Lewis,” was Perry’s clipped reply. So this was the way the conversation was going to go. The atmosphere changed immediately.

Predictably, LaF filled the short, tense silence with a pitying tone. “Perr, I—”

“No, LaFontaine,” she interrupted, “let’s not start this again. We’ve already talked about this. There’s a parking space there.”

Perry was being truthful there. Partially. They had talked about this, just… not properly. Perry was not ready to start a family (she wasn’t looking to do it any time soon), while LaFontaine had been stuck on the idea ever since they’d thought of it. She supposed it was the way the world expected her to be – first a relationship, then getting married, then starting a family of her own. The truth was, she doubted she would up to the job. There were other factors, but the main one was that her own family had never been very good at it. She couldn’t even ride on the fact that she was LaFontaine’s soulmate.

Her parents had been soulmates too, and their divorce had shaken loose ten-year-old Perry’s foundations. (She had come to learn that her parents _were_ meant to be together, just in a different way – they could support each other, but romantic notions simply blew all hopes of normality out of the water. Still, the effect their divorce had had on Perry was evident even today.)

“Perr, I think we should,” LaFontaine responded as they both got out of the car. Perry opened the door behind her seat to fish out her work bag, and then she marched towards the ugly grey building – leaving her person to dash to catch up with her. “We can’t settle this until we’ve talked about it fully. I’ve told you everything; you’ve only said something about not wanting to repeat history. You always said communication was good, remember?” they continued as they both walked inside. When Perry didn’t reply and stepped inside the elevator after the doors pinged open, they added, “I’m not trying to pressure you into this, I swear. I just want to know why you won’t consider having children.”

 _Breathe in. Breathe out._ Perry closed her eyes, feeling the elevator rattle around them, and repeated this train of thought until she was ready to reply. Facing LaF fully, she smiled sweetly (though she felt anything but _sweet_ as of this moment), “My reasons are simple. My family has never been good at parenting. My parents were soulmates but they divorced. My brother Lewis is hell-bent on making being a single parent worse for him by refusing to accept monetary help. That does not produce a good image for me to see. In addition to this, I have been the editor at _The Styria Herald_ for 18 months and those in more senior positions than I still refuse to take me seriously. I believe Mr Auschtenburg is still looking for a way to denounce me in a way that leaves me no choice but to leave. That means our main and only regular source of income is still hanging in the balance. Did I make myself perfectly clear?”

As if on cue, the elevator door pinged open again, and Perry curtly stepped out and walked towards Laura and Kirsch’s office to bid them a good morning. LaF stumbled after her, replying with, “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier? You could’ve just _told_ me that instead of shouting at me for no apparent reason—”

“Those are not things I usually admit to, LaFontaine,” she coldly responded. “Because they scare me. And I do not wish to repeat them again, especially not here. So, we’re going to move on now.”

They reached Laura’s and Kirsch’s office. LaF sighed, admitting defeat, before Perry opened the door wide.

“Morning!” Perry sang to the journalists in front of her.

“Hey, dudette!” Kirsch grinned at Perry, _immediately_ looking up at the both of them. He turned his head to LaFontaine. “Hey, awesome science nerd!”

(Perry was thankful Kirsch had got to grips with LaFontaine’s pronouns quickly; the two of them didn’t need another reason for the agent to be on edge today. Kirsch calling Perry “dudette”, however, was less desirable.)

By now, Laura would’ve looked up and beamed at them, greeting them warmly and asking them how their mornings had been. Maybe she would’ve even playfully told Kirsch off for calling Perry “dudette” and not “boss” – but there was nothing. Not a squeak. Laura was just sitting at her desk, staring at the screen in front of her but not doing anything on it.

Perry frowned. That was very unusual. (Well, very few things about today had been normal, and it hadn’t even got to 10 o’clock.)

“Laura?” LaFontaine piped up behind her.

Now Laura looked up. “Oh, hey, guys!” Her continued reaction was like nothing had happened, but Perry refused to let this drop.

“Sweetie, are you okay?” she wondered. “You looked a bit… out of it.”

“Perry, I’m fine, honestly,” Laura laughed it off. “Just a bit tired, that’s all. There’s nothing to worry about.” She gave them both an endearing smile that Perry really was fond of – it could melt even icy Carmilla, after all.

Perry gave her a happy nod and said goodbye to the both of them, but her smile was gone when she closed the door after LaFontaine escaped through it.

* * *

 

Truthfully, Laura was thinking about last night. And Carmilla.

Laura _hadn’t_ been lying when she’d told Perry she was tired – she was absolutely _exhausted_ , actually – but that wasn’t even the biggest reason. She had a few deeply important things flying about in her head and it was making her dizzy. She hadn’t had time to process them yet, and running on three cups of coffee and four hours of sleep hadn’t made it any easier.

A lot had happened last night. First, she’d found out that Michael was dead but alive, that Carmilla was a _vampire_ too, and – secondly – that she’d fallen in love.

Like, properly. Fallen in love with Carmilla.

Like she’d thought the night before, it was _huge_. In fact, she was a little bit breathless and trembly just _thinking_ about it. And while she’d kind of expected it, she hadn’t thought she’d fall in love so quickly. Her mom and dad had been like that – they’d known each for a while before they really started falling. (And when they’d started falling, they hadn’t stopped.)

Her situation with Carmilla was different, she guessed. Her mom and dad met on a business trip, back when her dad was a long-distance bus driver. Laura and Carmilla, however, had met fleetingly (leaving days of frustration and a massive build-up of excitement) before the illustrator had hunted her down. Laura had been flattered by that, and enamoured with the fact that the raven-haired woman – a divine badass, there was no doubting that – was so interested in her. Little Laura. Laura who needed a stool to reach the highest cupboards; Laura who had a tendency to ramble when embarrassed and further heighten the awkwardness of the situation.

It made her feel completely blissful, especially after the way she’d ended things with Danny. (That had been hard, she wasn’t going to lie, but the promise of meeting her soulmate had helped her along.)

She just hoped that the vampire had reached the point that she’d reached, because Laura was not good at waiting.

Oh, yeah. That was another thing. She’d fallen in love with a vampire.

Her soulmate was a vampire. The idea was still a bit ridiculous to her – just a bit – but she was 100% certain that Carmilla had meant it when she’d told Laura she wasn’t going to hurt her. She had no problems with that part, obviously, it was just other things. How much could Carmilla do, what abilities did she possess – aside from the obvious super speed, super strength, that was? What would happen if Carmilla had been starved of blood? To what extent did the sun hurt her? Did she ever get _tired_ , or was that Carmilla adapting to otherwise unnecessary human behaviour _?_

(Laura couldn’t think of a reason why she’d thought about that one. Nope. Not at all.)

There were other questions she’d been desperate to find out the answers of – like about the clans, about this mysterious “Mother”. About how Michael had been so adamant that Carmilla should return to this clan.

Luckily, she’d got a few answers after Michael had disappeared. And she hadn’t even had to go all investigative journalist/borderline stalker to get them.

When Carmilla had gripped her and whispered, “I imagine you want to talk about this,” Laura had nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. She’d been dying to know, really, to discover this new side to her soulmate. (She should’ve been worried about this side, but she trusted Carmilla.)

Carmilla had let her hands slide down from Laura’s waist, across Laura’s elbows, and finally they interlocked with Laura’s hands. (She must have seen or at least _felt_ the shiver that action had caused, judging by the fleeting but proud smirk the journalist saw on the vampire’s face. Laura Hollis was – and always had been – a girl who lacked subtlety. When reflecting upon it, Laura skipped over the fact that those actions had dominated her thoughts last night.) Then, all teasing gone, she’d pulled Laura over to the sofa.

It had all felt very serious. Placing themselves on the sofa meant it officially was a serious moment. Laura had gulped (what she hoped was) inconspicuously.

“So,” Carmilla had smiled – well, grimaced. “What part of my deeply painful past do you want to dissect?”

“Carmilla,” Laura had sighed in response at Carmilla’s dark humour. “If you don’t want to do this, then I won’t push you.”

Her soulmate had just shaken her head, a low chuckle escaping her lips. “It’s okay. You deserve to know what’s happening.”

Her eyes had been cautious, though, and her hands had been restless underneath Laura’s. Cool, disaffected vampire Carmilla – being nervous in front of Laura. Her heart had ached for her, and she’d hoped the circles her thumbs had been making on Carmilla’s hands had helped.

The illustrator had taken a deep breath and started tentatively.

(Laura could remember it all clearly, even when stuck in this tiny office she called her workplace the next morning.)

“I was born Mircalla. Daughter of the Count Karnstein in Styria, a duchy of Austria in 1680. Austria was embroiled in the great war against the Ottoman Empire, but such things meant little to wealthy girl. When I was eighteen, I attended a ball where I was murdered—”

“Whoa, _murdered?_ ” Laura had reacted. “You can’t just say it like that, like a boring history lesson! That’s dangerous, that’s exciting, that’s…” At the look on Carmilla’s face, the journalist had stopped talking. So, yeah, that had been a tad insensitive.

Carmilla gave her a tiny little smile, her lips in a small frown turned upside down. “Painful,” the vampire finished off for her. “Being separated from my family, all I’d known. How exciting.”

The beetroot red blush that had spread across Laura’s cheek hadn’t emulated the embarrassment the brunette woman had felt. She’d been caught up in finally getting to hear about her soulmate’s past, and she’d trampled on Carm’s feelings in the process. Great work, Hollis.

“I’m really sorry,” Laura had tried to patch it up.

But the vampire (surprisingly) had seemed a little less affected that Laura had first thought, because she’d waved it off with her now free right hand, and continued her story.

“Mother raised me – not my birth mother, but the mother I knew after death. I knew nothing of her, except she was very old and very wise, and had pried apart the jaws of death to enact my rescue. She took me in and taught me the ways of the vampire, of the rules we had to obey while under her. She showed me the world as it had never been shown to me before; we danced in the mirrored halls of Versailles and watched stars whirl over seas no man had named. Every night was a grand ball… a hunt… a feast. Every night was a second chance, a second stab in the dark for the euphoria my death had forced me to leave behind. It was enough, for a while. I easily settled into clan life when we returned.

“But clan life was sometimes too stifling. Mother was gone, endlessly searching for more recruits, and the lackeys she brought to the feeding ground – our home at the time – failed to notice me as anything but insignificant. Mother’s brashness had rubbed off on them – but with that came arrogance as opposed to the self-assurance she exuded. Those around me thought themselves superior. This, of course, combined with the intense emotions often found in kittens – uhm, new vampires – only served to irritate me. For all of their threats and vexing behaviours, Mother failed to placate them. She wanted them to feel constantly on edge, always ready for a battle should one be necessary. What for, I could only guess at, the answers on paper that flew away from my touch.”

Carmilla had stalled, then, pursing her lips before recommencing her story. “I only made matters worse for myself. Mother had been generous to me, cautious yet generous, but there were some things that could not be forgiven easily. I… initiated something that threatened one of the _Lophiiformes_ clan’s most sacred rules – it was forbidden to leave the clan. This had stemmed from a tradition established at the dawn of vampirism, but Maman had viewed it in a literal sense and would punish those who tried to leave if she caught them. Should they disappear without a trace, they were never spoken of again, never mentioned. I was reminded of it when she stopped my plans for my escape. My price for the disobedience was to witness a carnage of which the blame was entirely placed on me, and to be sealed in a coffin of blood so that I may waste away my long centuries in the dark.

“I lost hope. Gave up. When the bombs of the last great war of mankind had shaken me out of my cage, I saw the blinding light of the twentieth century. Mother had not the heart to reinter me; when she found me again in 1950’s Paris, she instead gave me a second chance. I still am not sure why she had this much patience for me. My time spent underground had made me irreversibly disillusioned with the idea of clan life, but there was no fight in me to contest her decisions. Yet I hid and drew in secret, drawings things Mother could… would only disapprove of. That was my way of rebellion – less outspoken, more personal than before – and when other clan members stole my drawings and demonised them it spurred me on to draw more. They were my anchors in the dead of the afternoon when the vampires around me returned to their dormant state.

“What finally spurred me on were my numbers. They returned upon my arm, counting down to over a year from then, and my hope was reignited. You were around, we were to meet in over a year, and my situation would not have helped our pre-established relationship should I have still been with the clan when we met. It took a great deal of courage, a lot of planning, but eventually I managed to leave while out on a mission for Mother. I’ve never looked back since. I set up my small business here, found myself an apartment, and used my art as a means for income as well as a means for satisfaction.

“But when I stressed Maman’s wish to see me back in the clan, I was not exaggerating, sundance. Michael was here because he is being sent by one of Mother’s lackeys to remind me of my duty to the clan. Whereas I believe in all duties except that one, Mother likes to keep her word. I can only imagine what words she might have for my return, what punishment, and they are words I am not willing to hear. I have much to lose here, and much to fear should I return. No matter how hard they try, I am not returning to the _Lophiiformes_ clan.”

Carmilla’s story had been dripped in eloquence, a masterpiece fit into the bodice of a 17th century countess. And Laura couldn’t help but feel both awed and sympathetic for Carmilla. Awed because Carmilla had quite possibly filled up her telling the truth quota for the next three years, and sympathetic because she’d been treated awfully in her time as a clan member. Laura had wanted to reach out, to let her know with her fingers that she was valid and okay and fascinating instead of using words. Laura was sure that her words would have tripped over themselves on their way out of her mouth if she’d tried to. (She knew her soulmate well enough to know that pity was the last thing she’d want from Laura, from anyone, so that prevented her even more.) Instead of that embarrassing prospect (embarrassing being guaranteed), Laura enveloped Carmilla even more. A hug from someone you cared about was all someone needed sometimes, even if it meant that the vampire had stiffened under her touch (she _really_ wasn’t used to hugs, poor Carmilla) before relaxing into her.

From the offset, Laura had known that her soulmate had left a few details out. There had been missing gaps, half-explained truths, in the raven-haired woman’s words. As she dragged her hands down her face, back in the office again the next day, she knew that – with time – the journalist’s analysis of her soulmate’s past would be complete. Thinking about how little she knew her soulmate’s past in comparison to knowing Laura’s past would have been, in retrospect, alarming if this wasn’t Carmilla she was talking about – but confessing some of her most vampiric secrets to Laura meant the broody vampire obviously trusted her with this information.

And actually, Laura trusted her too. If there was nothing else she was certain about, she knew that Carmilla would be ready to tell her, in her own time. And Laura respected that, of course she did.

It didn’t stop her from being curious, though.

* * *

 

Laura knew Kirsch had been worried about her all day. She’d seen all of the confused frowns he’d shot her when he’d thought she wasn’t looking, and although he’d tried to pretend like Laura had convinced him when she’d said she was fine, the softer edge of anxiety in his eyes for her had given him away.

There wasn’t anything to be worried about, but a quiet Laura was not a normal Laura. Kirsch, true to his form, had been looking out for Laura. She appreciated his concern, but also appreciated how he didn’t press her. She’d say it when she wanted to say it.

Okay… Laura was lying. There _were_ things to be worried about, but they weren’t things that she could confide in to her invariably human best friend. Who would also _not_ welcome the news she had. It wasn’t like she could tell him that – “oh, yeah, last night I found out that my soulmate is a vampire and that the clan she left want her back for good. Also your dead brother is a vampire and came back to remind her of what the clan wants her to do. But I’m fine, really!”

She really didn’t know how Kirsch would take that information. However, she knew he wouldn’t take it _well_ while they were in the confines of their office. He wouldn’t take it well while he was working on editing his last few articles. So it was best not to tell him. For now.

Honestly, Laura didn’t know how long she could keep that bit of information for. It wasn’t like anything she’d had to deal with before (it wasn’t like this whole vampire thing was a usual occurrence, either). And Kirsch was the sort of person to tell her exactly what was wrong _immediately_ – the trust he had in her ran deeper inside of him than the oceans. It felt a little like a betrayal on her part. She wasn’t comfortable with that.

Near the end of her work day – when she’d still produced a woeful amount of writing – she decided to text Carmilla. It was just starting to get dark outside; the vampire might be up now.

_Cupcake (16:39): Carm_

_Cupcake (16:41): I don’t know what to do about Kirsch_

_Cupcake (16:41): Like, he’s my best friend. And I know his dead brother is running around w a vampire clan_

_Cupcake (16:42): When do I tell him? Do I even tell him?? I’m so confused :(_

_Cupcake (16:49): You’re probably still in bed. Txt me when you can_

Carmilla still hadn’t text her back by the time her and Kirsch had packed up. Carmilla still hadn’t text her back by the time she’d dropped off (a still very concerned) Kirsch at his house.

Laura felt her phone vibrate in her pocket when she was driving towards her favourite bakery (because a girl could only last so long without a fix of her favourite cookies). It was on the outskirts of the city, which accounted for the eccentric variety in its clientele. Because of how far away it was, Laura also bought in bulk, and had been thinking of just how many cookies she was hoping to buy when her phone vibrated on her. So, being a very responsible driver, she pulled over onto the side of the road and peered at what Carmilla had replied.

_Broody Nocturnal Grump <3 (18:51): Hopefully, you won’t need to tell him about it. Mickey or whatever his name is won’t be around for much longer so we can both forget about him_

_Cupcake (18:51): Michael is his name. And Carm, no – I can’t just forget about him. He’s my best friend’s brother!!_

_Broody Nocturnal Grump <3 (18:53): Then you’ll have to keep it in. The less people know about this, the better_

_Cupcake (18:53): :( But if Michael stays in Silas, Kirsch will have to know?_

_Broody Nocturnal Grump <3 (18:54): What are you planning, cutie?_

Laura rolled her eyes. Carmilla was insistent on calling her nicknames even when messaging.

_Cupcake (18:55): Nothing!_

That was that for the conversation. Laura persuaded the car into life again and encouraged it to roll off the side of the road. That was much easier said than done; the pintsized car was really starting to struggle with the snow and ice under its wheels.

After much coaxing, the car managed to get back on the road. Finally, it seemed like the cookies were in sight. She’d need them if she wanted to tackle the mammoth task she’d given herself from failing to do any substantial work today.

The car was whining at her as it trod through a few feet of snow – and Laura was whining back, muttering out loud about how the car she was both fond of and infuriated by was nearing the end of its life (but hopefully not ending it on this journey). But then she was distracted by a soft orange glow out of the corner of her eye. It was coming from the road she had to turn onto; she yanked the car wheel around and pushed it forward slowly, hoping to investigate.

She couldn’t really think of a reason for the existence of the orange glow except for it being a fire. Was it a fire? As she got closer, she found it was – and that put the _reason_ for there being a fire into question. Why would someone just set a bush alight, and _keep it alight_ when it was practically 0 degrees Celsius out?

Laura didn’t give herself any more time to think about it – she’d found no casualties or reasons for alarm, so she’d started speeding up. She’d sped up, that was, until something flashed before her – and before she knew it, her car slammed into a shape on the road.

Laura screamed and slammed on the brakes… except she’d stopped already. Whatever was in front of her had _literally_ stopped her car from moving an inch further. The car had rocked forward and the tail landed back on the ground with a disconcerting _bang_. What was more disconcerting, however, was the fact that Michael Kirsch was staring at her (there really was no other way to describe his stare as being broody, sometimes he could give _Carmilla_ a run for her money), his hands pressing dents into the hood of her old Volkswagen. His breathing was heavy – from an adrenaline rush or lack of oxygen, Laura didn’t know. (Did vampires need to breathe?) Satisfied that he had stopped her, he marched over to her window and tapped on it.

(Oh, Laura was _so_ going to have to lie to her dad about this.

The Kirsch family were harmless – any injuries caused were completely accidental – but now Michael was a vampire, she was wary of him. She shrunk back as much as she could while he tapped on her window.

Looking at his unrelenting and anxious expression made her regain her normal posture a bit. He was scared, just as much as her, and the way he was holding himself meant he’d been in a fight. Now the fire was behind him, he looked much less dangerous than when he’d been illuminated by the sharp lights of the car.

Laura tentatively rolled the window down. She had to see what he had to say, at least.

“I’ve come back,” he informed her as soon as she’d let go. He exhaled, looking decidedly more relaxed. Laura saw a bit of Kirsch in his expression, then, and her heart clenched. “I’ve come back to stay.”

“So you decided to destroy my car in the process?” Laura couldn’t help the bite in her words slip through. Well, he _had_ just damaged her car. Times like these made her wish she’d taken her bike. (Screw the snow for preventing her from doing that. Though she doubted she could fit Kirsch into her basket.)

“I needed to tell you. Or Carmilla. Whoever I could find.” He looked guiltily at the front of her car. “I’ll pay for the cost, if you want,” he offered.

“Do you have a job?” the journalist asked, eyebrows raised.

Michael rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Nah. But I’ll look for one so I can pay you.”

“Michael, you don’t have to. I can pay for it myself; it’s fine.”

“I insist,” he countered. His voice was tender, his eyes large. “It was a dick move.”

Laura laughed. “Probably.” Then she bit on her lip, recounting his words before. “You said you’re staying?”

“Yeah, I – I left the clan.”

The tiny journalist was taken back by that. When she’d suggested it, she hadn’t expected him to take her advice. “That’s… quite a surprise, coming from you. Weren’t you telling Carm off for doing just that?”

“My allegiance was never with the clan in the first place,” he admitted. “And you and Carmilla, you gave me the final reasons I needed to leave.”

“Carmilla?” Laura frowned. “She was ordering you to go back to the clan!”

“Yeah,” Michael responded, in that “duh, obvious” tone, “but she also refused to go back as well. That was kind of… brave of her. I thought, if she could too, then why couldn’t I?”

“Fair point,” Laura shrugged. “So… do you know where you’re going to go?”

Haltingly, the vampire shook his head. “No, I just left tonight. I haven’t thought about renting or working or anything.”

“You should. If you’re going to stay here. You need to set yourself up, like Carm did. And, find somewhere else to call home.”

“I already have a home.” His voice was firm. His breathing had evened out now – well, stopped.

The journalist’s smile faltered. “They might not think that, you know. It might take a while for them to get used to the fact that you’re not… totally dead.”

“Well, I _am_ totally dead. Me being here doesn’t change the fact that I was brutally murdered.”

Michael sounded really unfussed by that fact. That shocked Laura. _No 21 year old should ever have to say it like that, like it’s old news_ , she thought to herself, her keen sense of justice rising up inside her suddenly. _No one should, actually. Ever._

She knew the details. Trails of blood from where he had last been traced to. Spinal fluid found. Either Michael was surprisingly resilient, or he was hiding how terrified he still was from that memory.

Most likely the latter of those two. If it were Laura, she wouldn’t have been able to step outside for at least a decade.

How long had it taken for Carmilla to deal with the horrific memory of the last night of her true life? She didn’t want to picture what images came up with that question. She preferred to see Carmilla smiling (or whatever was close enough), not sobbing.

“You know what I meant, Michael,” she responded, her voice full of sympathy.

He flinched at her tone, but carried on anyway. “I’m prepared to wait as long as it takes. They’re my family, Laura. I’d do anything for them.”

The journalist nodded understandingly. “It’ll just be a lot for them to take in, that’s all.”

“I know. It was for me, too.”

The air was thick with the implication of those words.

Laura decided to cut through it. “Do you really not have anywhere to stay?”

Michael just replied, “Why would I lie?”

The gold-brown haired girl considered the options in front of her. Michael really needed a place to crash out – he would only draw attention to himself if he slept rough. He also needed to stay with someone who understood his vampiric habits. There were only two people in Silas that Laura knew who did – Carmilla and herself.

Carmilla wouldn’t take him in, that much was clear. She doubted the illustrator had the space, anyway. If he tried to, she’d probably chuck him out or literally tear him apart.

So, that wasn’t an option.

That left Laura. Ah. Well, as long as he wasn’t a messy roommate, Laura supposed she could allow him to board with her.

So she turned to him. “Would you mind sleeping on a couch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular updates every Tuesday and Saturday!
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	12. Don't Let Our Hearts Freeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, big events happened for those who needed it the least, and those who needed it the most -all at the same time. Carmilla's realisations were probably overdue - but who was to say they were all good?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is currently 2am here in the UK but it's here! I've written it! Here is Tuesday's chapter! Enjoy! Updates will be regular from this Saturday.
> 
> Chapter title taken from Empty Gold // Halsey.

One of the (many, many) perks of being Carmilla’s soulmate was that Laura was getting to grips with staying awake while the sun dipped below the horizon. It did mean that weekends blended into one sleeping session (because she still had to work), but she could live with that.

It also meant that Michael’s presence wasn’t nearly as intrusive as it could have been. The next week had come into being, and the 21 year old was still boarding at her flat. Thankfully, he wasn’t as messy as certain people Laura knew. He had few belongings, slept soundly throughout the day, and kept largely to himself. He asked permission to use Laura’s food (to which she always reminded him that it was his too), and took the time to get to know his roommate. On the nights that Laura wasn’t with Carmilla, or asleep herself, he listened to her stories and wolfed down any meals made she made for him. And he opened up to her.

The Michael she’d met was guarded. The Michael she’d heard of from her best friend was entirely different. Michael Kirsch, when he was alive, had been quiet and sweet, looking out for everyone and helping in the most inconspicuous of ways. The only time he’d got really loud was when he was playing around with Kirsch, or when he was furious at people messing with Jordanna.

When it came to his death and his enrolment into the _Lophiiformes_ clan (Laura still couldn’t pronounce it properly), he became lonely. Desperately missing his family and his past life, he only forged a tentative acquaintanceship with Will, and hid all sweetness he’d once shown. So that was how Laura had originally known him – lonely, surly, and very out of place.

It was nice to see him so… normal. Himself.

He still wasn’t relaxed, though. Being so near to Kirsch but not being able to see him was driving Michael crazy – and if he wasn’t being with Laura or searching for a job or a cheap apartment, he was planning on how to reunite with his family. He was meticulous in his detail; he planned what he’d say when asked certain questions, he knew how much he could tell them. With his sister, he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, instead focusing his attention on helping her. Laura went through it with him, being a scribe for him and offering some journalistic insight.

She knew how much this meant to him. She could see how nervous he was, how much he was anticipating this. Sometimes, when she lost him on a conversation, she could see his eyes scanning the ceiling and focusing his thoughts on the planning. Laura didn’t really mind that (she was often rambling anyway).

Carmilla, however, was less enthusiastic. While Laura knew Kirsch and Jordanna better, she didn’t really understand the implications behind this for Michael, and how much of his new existence he was sacrificing for this. Carmilla _did_ , and she let Laura know every time they talked about it.

“Are you _insane_?” Carmilla had reacted when the journalist had told her that Michael was living at hers. “You might as well be walking up to the clan and telling them how much you want your own head on a platter!”

“Carmilla, he _needs_ this!” Laura had protested. “He needs his family. It’s… it’s all he knew before being a vampire.”

“ _Before_ being a vampire, yes,” Carmilla had picked up on. “But his life is different now. My life is very different to the person I once was.”

“You had 300 years to change. He’s had two years.”

“Regardless, you’re forced to change. Life after death is not the same. He didn’t go on a gap year, creampuff, he got killed. He got enrolled into one of the most dangerous clans in existence.”

“Yeah, but he left. Like you. He wants to go back to his old life. I actually saw him _smile_ ; he didn’t smile before.”

“Congratulations, he managed to smile. Let’s crack out the champagne.”

“ _Carmilla!_ ”

The illustrator had fixed her with a piercing glare then. “Laura, exposing more humans to our nature can have a catastrophic effect. You already know and even _that_ is enough to be wary of m – the clan. Being oblivious equals a safer life.” Carmilla seemed to have calmed down. “Besides, cupcake, how do you know how they’re going to react?”

Laura couldn’t, and Carmilla knew she couldn’t. “I just – I just can’t think of another way out of this.”

Once the illustrator had known that there wasn’t anything either of them could do to stop this from happening, Laura found it easier to persuade her soulmate to help. After Michael’s first night of feeding (she’d got _such_ a shock when Michael had returned in the morning with blood dripping down his chin) and subsequently the only tense moment between them – Michael had tried to calm her down with the fact that he hadn’t killed anyone, just got some blood from them – Laura thought it better if he copied Carm’s approach. She even managed to get Carmilla to donate some of her blood to him to start him off.

It was better than people lying unconscious in the street, blood flowing out of their necks.

If Laura was honest, that was as far as she expected Carmilla to help. Her ire about the whole situation had been defined from the start – so she was extremely surprised when Carmilla actually _tried to help_ Michael meet his brother.

Laura had invited her soulmate over for the night – they knew Michael was going to be there too, but they weren’t expecting any romantic business, so it was fine. (The journalist did kinda want to initiate that sort of moment – _of course_ she did, she’d be crazy otherwise – but that was definitely out of the question now Michael was around.)  When Carmilla knocked on the apartment door, Laura opened it almost instantly and almost knocked her over with a hug; Michael had been lying down on the sofa, going through Laura’s notes and frowning to himself. When he saw Carmilla walk into the living room, he gave her a wave.

“Hey, vamp.”

“Airhead,” she greeted him back, earning a hit of the arm from the journalist. “What? It’s true.”

When the topic of meeting with Kirsch was inevitably brought up, the older vampire discovered they’d planned to do it tomorrow. Laura knew that would be quite a surprise, but a near-miss with Kirsch earlier had really hurried things along.

She was prepared for her soulmate ridiculing the whole process with a few snarky and elegantly worded comments. She wasn’t prepared for suggestions.

“Get Danny to take Kirsch someplace,” the raven-haired woman sighed, sipping from a wineglass of blood, curled up on one of the chairs in front of the TV. “You can distract the one-legged puppy that way.”

Laura kind of just stared at her for a bit, eyes wide.

“Are we meant to be conversing telepathically, cutie? Because I’m getting nothing except surprise,” Carmilla smirked.

The younger woman in the room blushed furiously and blurted, “Why Danny?”

Now it was time for Carmilla to be self-conscious. She rolled her eyes and muttered that, “It’d be helping them to do that ridiculous “bonding” that you keep whining they need to do.” Laura raised an eyebrow at her, because she wasn’t expecting _that_ , either – voluntarily giving up a chance to annoy Laura’s friends even further. “I’d rather see you content about their happiness than fretting over it,” she admitted with a shrug.

The smile on Laura’s face was instantaneous then, and Carmilla watched with a new understanding lighting up in her eyes.

“Who’s Danny?” Michael interrupted.

“Um, Danny Lawrence is Kirsch’s – uh, Wilson’s soulmate,” Laura supplied him. Michael’s eyes flickered to Carmilla in astonishment, before – at the other vampire’s silent command – he chose not to speak of it. It was probably something to do with the clan; Laura ignored it. “They don’t really get on very well.”

“Then I’m for it,” he smiled at her.

“Good! Good.”

Later on, when Michael was busy in the shower, and Carmilla and Laura were curled up next to each other on the sofa, Laura phoned Danny. It wasn’t _too_ late, and Danny was up at this time, anyway. She picked up on the third ring.

“Hollis? You okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, just fine. I just… I wanted to ask for a favour.”

A beat. “Yeah, no, sure. Hit me with it.” Something rumbly sounded next to wherever Danny was, and she hissed, “Shut _up_ , Lucas.”

“Would it be okay if you… took Kirsch out somewhere for a few hours?”

Danny paused, probably in disbelief. “Is this a prank? Is Carmilla there with you?”

“We’re not pranking you, Xena,” Carmilla assured the athlete from next to her, pressing her body closer into Laura as she shifted. As soon as the intake of breath sounded from her lips, Laura hoped that her soulmate hadn’t heard it.

Who was she kidding, of course Carmilla did. She was a freaking vampire. And it explained Carmilla throwing her arm over Laura’s shoulder, which definitely _didn’t_ increase the pace of her heartbeat, nope. (Laura was so bad at lying.)

Danny must have heard, because she laughed unconvincingly. It stopped when the journalist responded to Danny’s questions with, “No, this is actually quite serious. And important. Carmilla says it’s to do with your family or something. Besides, it’ll give you a chance to make it up to him – and us – for the theatre disaster. You said you wanted to.”

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Danny sighed, after about ten seconds of deliberating. “What do you need me to do, and when?”

“Tomorrow, like 5? And – do whatever, I don’t care. Just bring him back to his flat.”

“…Those are very vague details, Hollis.”

“I know, but I can’t help it,” Laura pouted. “I’ll see you around, then?”

“Yeah, see you around. We should – we should catch up again sometime.”

Laura did like the sound of that, even if Carmilla was rolling her eyes with an incredible amount of derision next to her. “That sounds awesome. Alright, see you!”

When it came to Michael meeting with Kirsch for the first time since Michael’s death, the plan was borderline criminal. And a good shock to the system for Kirsch. But there was never any way for it _not_ to be shocking to Kirsch, so they’d chosen to instigate at a familiar place for Laura’s best friend – his flat. For that, Laura had to find a way to procure a set of keys identical to Kirsch’s own without stealing. She could go to the staff who worked at the block of flats and ask for one, that was fine (she’d done it before when she’d locked herself out of her own flat… twice) – but it was hard for Laura to act convincingly when Carmilla had been three inches away from her for most of the night and had got very little sleep because of it. She’d woken up a few times and heard Carmilla mumbling a few questions – something like “Where are you?” and “Did you see me?”, she couldn’t _quite_ make it out – so that hadn’t helped either. But it had been so peaceful, those moments between sleep. Doused in the fuzzy haze of sleepiness, Laura had seen Carmilla lying next to her (fully clothed, because she’d failed to bring over pyjamas and Laura hadn’t got around to putting her PJs in the wash yet) and acting so innocent. The walls which she’d built around herself were gone, and Laura saw a bit of the 18-year-old girl in her content expression while she slept.

These were precious moments, and she was determined to fill her mind with them.

She didn’t even regret those moments, no matter how tired she was the next day. Not even in the midst of lying to the friendly staff did she regret them. Somehow, she’d stumbled her way through, and somehow the staff had still believed her. (Honestly, it was a literal miracle they’d not seen through the act.) They’d given her some extra keys, playfully reprimanded her to not be so forgetful, and sent her on her way to his room. Carmilla and Michael had joined her upon her return, and they’d walked into Kirsch’s (extremely messy) flat with tight lips and dry throats.

It was happening. It was really going to happen.

“Do you want us to stay with you, or will you be fine on your own?” Laura asked Michael as soon as he perched down on Kirsch’s sofa, brushing away a few papers and a magazine or two. He’d gone paler (and he’d just had some blood) than usual and his hand jittered about on his knee. Behind her, Carmilla was sipping on her blood drink and looking decidedly bored by the whole affair.

“I’ll be fine. It’s okay. You two can… reveal yourselves when he comes.” He gave Laura a tight smile, and she nodded.

“Cool, okay. We’ll just be – we’ll just be in the kitchen,” she responded, already feeling Carmilla pull on her hand.

As she turned to leave, Michael’s voice stopped her again. “Laura – um. Thank you. For doing this for me. I know it’s a lot, but… I appreciate it.”

“No, it’s okay,” Laura had smiled back, eyes large with admiration. “I didn’t want to see you so upset.”

“You won’t anymore,” he assured her, his gratitude seeping into every part of him.

The journalist was about to say something else when Carmilla pulled her into the kitchen with a persuasive pull, and suddenly she was gone. Instead, she was standing with the illustrator _incredibly_ close to her (okay, not going blank would be a great idea, Laura) while she grabbed onto a counter for support.

And so they waited.

* * *

 

Falling in love was very inconvenient. Carmilla was perfectly aware of this. She’d been blinded by love before, destroyed by the hope it had given her.

Ell had covered her eyes with the sweetest of words, administered the light that had shone too bright. Carmilla had simply given in, enraptured by the girl in front of her. With Ell, the truth was gone, reality was a memory, and a lie had become the only thing Carmilla could even bear to deal with.

An unfulfilled promise, a careless escape. The wool over her eyes did not scratch her face, the vampire had believed – had she felt it do so, Carmilla was sure she would not have rectified such an inconsequential thing, anyway.

Except the wool had scratched so much that blood had been spilled. Not just Ell’s, not just her village’s, but her own. Her blindness had caused so much grief, so much _pain_ – and suddenly she was alone in the dark. _Where are you?_ She’d called out, in the coffin where she’d known no one could hear her. _Where are you?_ She’d called out, drowning in Ell’s blood and feeling more tears seep out of her eyes than she’d ever thought imaginable.

_Where are you? Why did you not save me? Why did you not see me?_

She was blind long after her release. She was still blind when wandering around in 1950’s Paris. She sheltered from the thunderstorms roaring overhead, in the prestigious art museums of the city, still numb even while staring at her one lifeline. She was still blind and art could not save her. The numbness was replaced by fury instead.

 _Perhaps_ , she had thought to herself, watching the birds across the street enact their twirling dance of courtship, _I am not meant to be saved. Perhaps it is due to my nature. A monster such as myself cannot be granted such miracles, and death has dictated it so._

There was a time when she had looked for the most permanent of solutions, when she believed herself to be ready to leave this world for good. But then, through her drawings (through her _own_ creativity, not the pretentious one-dimensional creations she had seen throughout her non-life), she got a glimpse of reality. It was more than enough to pull her out of that wishful thinking. They were just glimpses, she knew, and her hope still lay shattered at her feet, but it was something, regardless.

And so the years had passed, and Carmilla was still just seeing hints of the world. They were just flashes, their meanings evolving and increasing in significance with every one that passed. Each glimpse she got led her closer to the belief that the only person who could save her was _herself_. When she had broken free from the clan that had suffocated her for all of these centuries, she knew it was a beautiful thing.

Falling in love was inconvenient. Carmilla knew this perfectly well. Last time, it had brought on more devastation than she could handle. Last time, Carmilla had had to save herself from that.

But this time, there had been no salvation needed. She’d got that before. No, this… this was something else entirely. This was new, this was enlightening – despite the fact that she’d been feeling this for weeks now. This was where she found her true peace.

Carmilla could see again.

It was a quiet moment. Carmilla and Laura were in Kirsch’s kitchen, an unorganised room full of journalism magazines and beer cans. Michael was in Kirsch’s front room, perched on the edge of his brother’s fraying sofa, waiting anxiously for Danny to bring Kirsch home. Time was passing, but Carmilla couldn’t really feel it. She knew, however, that Laura’s puppy friend would be arriving soon, providing an extremely unwelcome interruption – because Carmilla was realising that she’d fallen in love and had been finally seeing again.

She was quietly euphoric.

All Laura had said was, “I should probably go check up on Michael,” but Carmilla had grabbed her hand to prevent her from doing so. Originally, she’d planned to discourage Laura from doing this because this was something Kirsch and Michael had to deal with alone (and Carmilla had only agreed to come along so she could dissuade Danny from ripping the other vampire apart) – but the words had died in her throat. Laura had just looked so _soft_. It might’ve been the way the light caught Laura’s wide, staring eyes, or it might have been the way Laura felt so warm and alive and human in her hand. Either way, something had triggered Carmilla’s brain to realise that her eyes were really open, for the first time in a long time. For the first time in centuries. Happily, she could see Laura returning her gaze with as much love as she felt rushing inside of her, like an ocean inside of her.

_Where are you? Why did you not see me?_

“You’re here,” Carmilla muttered, as Laura inched closer to the vampire.

“I – yeah, I am,” Laura responded unobtrusively, not once flinching under Carmilla’s reverent stare. “And – and I see you. You’re here too.”

Carmilla could have collapsed under the gravity of her ushered words. At the same time, a weight from fleeing from her body as she felt herself settle under Laura’s gaze. With so many memories rushing to the forefront of her mind (some were from centuries ago; the most important were more recent), Carmilla wasn’t sure if she’d told Laura of those thoughts that had circled her consciousness like vultures above a carcass. Irrespective of that, Carmilla knew they were the most important words anyone had ever said to her.

“I see you” was just as meaningful as “I love you”. “I see you” meant Carmilla could stop her search. “I see you” meant Carmilla had found her home.

In truth, Carmilla had already found her home in Laura. She’d found her home when she’d first met her, first got the sunshine before her imprinted on her eyes. Now she was walking up to the door and knocking to be let in.

Genuine smiles were often fleeting for the vampire, but not now. Not around Laura. The one that Carmilla felt spread across her face was immediately reflected by her soulmate; a part of her wondered if Laura really _was_ human, being such a picture of joy and happiness and beauty. She would do anything she could to keep that smile on Laura’s face forever.

“We’re soulmates,” Carmilla whispering, every note holding notes of wonder as she slid her hands down and interlaced her fingers with Laura. They’d held hands before, but those instances weren’t like this. Every movement sent sparks of happiness through her hand, leading straight to her heart. “You’re my soulmate. You’re home.”

If Laura kept looking at her like that, she was going to faint.

“You’re my adventure,” Laura confessed with an equal amount of awe in her fluttery voice. “One that I’ll always look—” Laura’s brow suddenly furrowed, and Carmilla wanted to make sure it smoothened out immediately. The smaller girl turned her head away from the vampire and wondered, “Was that…?”

 _“What the_ hell _did you do to him, bloodsucker?”_ boomed Danny from the front room.

 _“I didn’t do anything; I didn’t know he was going to faint!”_ Michael protested.

Laura immediately tensed. Carmilla sighed heavily. “I hate your friends.”

“You were the one who suggested this,” Laura reminded her, a teasing smile forming. “Now _come on_ , Carm!”

Falling in love with Laura wasn’t inconvenient, but the ex-frat boy’s ability to mess up the perfect moments certainly was.

* * *

 

Passing out wasn’t fun. Kirsch knew that now.

Seeing your dead brother in on your sofa kinda had that effect, though.

When he woke up after the first time, all he saw was Danny bent over him, growling at him to “wake up, you stupid dumbass”. He was quite happy with the way that had turned until he realised that it was _Danny_ , who _hated_ him, and that his brother was still in the room.

He tried to raise his head slightly, and locked eyes with Michael.

A phone call. A name printed on the regional news. Flowers and a suit. So many tears.

He passed out again.

The second time he woke up, he was on the sofa and people were still around him. He could see Danny again, walking up to him with a cup of something. He sat up slowly, resting against the sofa’s arm, and took the hot liquid from his soulmate when she offered it to him. It was just those two in the room, for now.

Man, that drink was sweet. And he still felt a little bit dizzy.

This was just so weird.

“So,” was his first word when put the drink down. A drop ran over the side and splashed onto the magazine below the cup. Whatever, he didn’t like that magazine anyway.

Danny snapped her head to him. Her face was, like, closed off. Kirsch wondered why she’d be like that. She wasn’t the one affected by this. (Except, he didn’t know, maybe being his soulmate would mean she’d be connected in some way? He didn’t really get the whole soulmate thing.)

“So,” she repeated, scanning his expression – scanning him – so she could come up with the suitable thing to say. Her voice was really gentle, really soft, and it wasn’t helping him get rid of the feeling that he was floating on a cloud. “You feeling okay?”

That was weird, too. “I thought you hated me,” was his reply, because his brain was a bit addled and he kinda didn’t want to admit that he’d seen Michael in front of him. He could’ve been seeing things. When he was younger, people used to say they were expecting him to see things no one else saw. (It was kinda mean.)

Danny shrugged. “You’re still annoying… but you fainted. I don’t want you to die on me.”

“That’s nice of you,” he responded, smiling up at her. Danny chuckled. “So you don’t hate me?”

“Not really,” she admitted, and he felt a swell of happiness catch in his chest suddenly.

“Dude, thank _God_. I don’t want this soulmates thing to be awkward, ya know?”

The athlete hottie just nodded.

“And… I don’t hate you either. You’re just scary sometimes.”

That made her laugh. “Don’t think I won’t use that against you one day, popped collar.”

“Crap.”

She laughed again. It was a really nice sound, something he’d heard for the first time when she took him out to that restaurant next to the theatre earlier today.

This was good. This was normal. Kirsch brought the cup back up to his lips and took a sip. Just then, Laura and the scary hottie walked back in, hands joined. Carmilla had a drink in her hand. They seemed to be speaking to each other without actually speaking, and their eyes just sorta shined when they looked at each other. Cute.

“That’s new,” Kirsch noted to Danny, sneakily pointing to the two other girls in the room.

“Yeah, um, they kind of realised they were in love,” his soulmate replied without any emotion, and Kirsch winced when he remembered that she still liked Laura. He didn’t know how much, but something told him it wasn’t love.

He wasn’t great with Danny, though, so he might have been wrong. And he felt sorry for her, too, so that was probably the little sting he felt when he remembered that.

Or maybe it was him fainting. He wasn’t sure.

There was a pause, and Kirsch could feel it in the air. They were all waiting. Waiting for him to say something. But what could he say? He didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t surprising, but it _was_ annoying.

“Okay, so – ” he swallowed “ – I wasn’t seeing things, was I? H-He was here, wasn’t he?”

Danny gazed at him ( _everyone_ did) for what felt like forever, but then she nodded. “He’s here.”

Kirsch sat up, felt his stomach drop to the ground floor. Which was impressive, because his apartment was on the fourth floor. “How? How can he?”

“He… he should probably explain that himself,” Danny informed him, so he nodded in submission.

Michael skulked into the room, sat down on the chair next to Kirsch.

Kirsch felt… he didn’t know what he felt. Everything, he guessed. Rage and anger and betrayal and love and relief and just, _everything_ , because his brother was back. His brother was sat right in front of him and oh God, he’d cried over him for so long (still was) and asked for him to come back, and now he was _here in front of Kirsch_. Michael was sitting in Kirsch’s dirty stupid flat and looking like he was about to cry. Kirsch could relate.

“Hey, Wilson,” his dead brother croaked out, and suddenly it was _so_ real. God, how much had he missed his voice? He couldn’t put a number on it.

Kirsch had decided to guard his emotions, like Danny had done. But – but he just couldn’t. He just felt everything.

“Why did you go?” he asked, his voice a lot deeper and a lot more fragile than he wanted it to sound.

“I had to, bro,” Michael replied.

“That’s not – that’s not an answer,” Kirsch growled, and his brother shrank back in his seat a bit. “Why did you have to leave? Why couldn’t you just stay? Why did you – ” his breath hitched and he felt the tears surge forward “ – why did you have to _do_ that, bro?”

“I didn’t want to,” Michael told him, and his voice cracked, too. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Laura reach out and put a hand on Mike’s shoulder (and _what the fuck was that about_ ). “I wanted to stay. I hated it, I hated being away from you. And Jordanna. And Mom and Dad.”

Crap. Their family. Oh, yeah, that was it, Michael left their whole family to mourn him. “Dad doesn’t speak much. Mom got hurt. And Jordanna isn’t herself. Jordanna is losing her goddamn mind over you.” Everyone could hear the hurt in his voice, and everyone could hear the betrayal he felt. “Oh, and I broke my foot, too, trying to save her from nearly getting killed. So, please tell me because I don’t know what’s happening right – _how the hell are you here? Why did you leave?_ ”

A tear fell over the top of Mike’s right eye and made a path down his cheek. “I was killed.”

“ _Screw_ that, bro. You’re here in front of me. You didn’t die.”

“Kirsch – wait,” Laura rushed. “He’s speaking the truth.”

“How do you know?” he frowned.

“Just hear him out, ex-frat boy,” Carmilla sighed, and swallowed some of her drink.

“Fine. Just tell me what’s going on and then I won’t jump at you.”

“Do you believe in… vampires?”

Kirsch laughed, took another sip of his drink. What had Danny put in this? Vampires were a thing now? Crazy. “You sound like Mom. Nah, they don't exist.”

“They do,” his brother responded simply. “That’s… that’s what happened to me, bro.”

“Is this some kind of a joke?”

No response. Laura and Carm-scary and Danny just looked so concerned for him. This was really worrying.

“Bro. Stop joking. This isn’t funny.”

“Why are all the blinds closed in here, Wilson? Why is Carmilla drinking blood? How am I still here?”

It had been so long since he’d heard that voice say his real name. No one else called him that except for his parents. He’d changed to it after Michael… died, but his parents were dead set on calling him by his first name still. (Had been.)

Carmilla actually was drinking something pretty sloshy and red, and looked really cool with Michael’s claim. And Laura and Danny weren’t laughing. Maybe he was going insane.

“No.”

“…Yes.”

“Dude, _no_. Vampires don’t exist.”

“I’m not a ghost, Wilson. I’m here. I was killed and then made a vampire but I came back here. I couldn’t leave you all.” And his brother cracked a small smile at him, and even though the image was blurry, it lifted his heart up. It made sense.

Kirsch was silent, a small smile on his own lips. So… vampires existed. Michael still… existed. “Are you staying?”

Michael nodded. “Forever.”

That was it. Kirsch gingerly stood up, putting down the cup of sweet drink on the floor and throwing off the blanket. He leaned on his better foot and hobbled over to his dead – alive – whatever – brother. Michael stood up to steady him, and then they were embracing. And it felt so good to have him here again, the little brother that he lost. He was enveloped by tears and the smell of the bro he’d missed for so long (though something about him smelled a little bit off) and he could hear Michael choking out “I’m so sorry” over and over again. Kirsch was telling him that it was okay, it was okay, he was _here_ and it was okay.

It still wasn’t completely okay, and he hoped Mike knew that. They had had two years apart. Jordanna had wrecked herself in that time. Mom had been attacked and Dad had hid himself away in that time. But Kirsch was fine with forgiving and fine with working through that if it meant that he could see his little brother that he loved so much again.

Behind him, when the sniffling quietened down a little bit, he heard Danny sigh to herself, “Jeez, Hollis, what is it with you and vampires?”

Oh, right, ‘cause Carmilla was a vampire too. Again, weird. But… he could deal with that.

In response, Kirsch saw Carm-sexy tighten her grip around Laura (the little nerd hottie had hugged Carm in celebration when he and Mike had hugged), and retorted, “Wouldn’t you like to know, wolfie?”

Wolfie? Danny? Okay, he didn’t have time to think about that. Now was the time for talking through things with his brother. Dead but alive by vampire standards brother.

“Okay – Carm, Danny, I think we need to go and leave Kirsch and Michael alone to talk,” Laura suggested suddenly, a false kind of brightness in her words. Kirsch knew she wanted to talk to them about something (a very pressing issue, he guessed; he knew Laura well). “Shall we go?”

“Wilson, you might not like all the things I’m gonna tell you,” Michael swallowed, now free from Kirsch’s hands.

Kirsch fell back onto the sofa as the girls walked out of the room. There was no hint of playfulness when he said, “Don’t leave anything out.”

* * *

 

Now that Kirsch and Michael had had their reunion of sorts (which Carmilla was convinced was just as cheesy as the stuff they showed on reality shows – not that she’d watched one episode of those the whole way through), they could actually discuss important things.

She would’ve preferred it if there were as little human contact as possible, but Carmilla had learned in her years that life would never give you what you wanted. So the grand total of humans that knew of vampires was four – soon to be seven when the rest of Michael’s family was added into it. Danny didn’t count.

Speaking of the devil (or close enough), she was sat next to the vampire at the small table Kirsch had, with a downtrodden face. Opposite her, leaning against the counters and trying to listen into the conversation next door was Laura. When Carmilla caught her soulmate’s eye, she beamed at her, and the vampire felt sparks course through her that electrified her ocean.

She was hers. They hadn’t said anything official (just “I see you”), but Carmilla was hers and would be for an eternity.

“So, what did Michael tell you?” Danny asked suddenly, forcing the vampire’s attention to be dragged away from her soulmate. (A humongous part of her wished to be granted the ability of looking at Laura forever, taking in all her contours and her soft edges. Alas, the universe never granted her such gifts.) Instead, she had to watch Clifford squirm in front of her. “I guess he told you a lot, right? He was in the clan when you left.”

Carmilla sighed internally. Teaming up with the wolves was less than favourable, but she did owe it to the Lawrences for not ripping her to pieces, so she was forced to ally herself with them. “He told me the current stance on things, yes. Would you like the bad news or the terrible news?”

“Just tell me them, bloodsucker.”

Carmilla _hmm_ ed in acknowledgement. “Well, the bad news is that their numbers surpass your own. The terrible news is that they’re already planning multiple murders of your officials, including Lawrences. Mother never did things on a small scale.”

Danny was stiff. “How long do we have?”

“Not long, was all puppy vampire said.”

“That’s it?”

“I never said he was _reliable_ , Xena. I wouldn’t hold my breath for exact details.”

“He’s the only source of information we have,” Danny frowned. “And the Committee need to know as much information as possible.”

“ _Had_. He’s left now, he can’t go back. And sorry, Clifford, but your Committee are going to have to sit tight and plan ahead.”

The werewolf next to her made a frustrated sound and slammed her hands down on the table, before running a hand through her hair. “Great. This is really great. I thought I was getting more than that. We know hardly anything. So we’re all dead.”

Carmilla chuckled and folded her arms. “Well, you had a good run, she-wolf. Though I imagine I could beat you in a race, too.”

“Don’t be petty, vamp,” Danny growled.

“What, are you gonna bark at me or something?” Carmilla laughed.

“Okay, what the hell is going on right now?” Laura snapped, slamming her own hands down on the table. Danny jumped; Carmilla turned her head to gaze at her. Laura was caught up in watching her for a moment until she shook her head and continued. “You’re talking about something that’s flying right over my head and if we’re all going to die like you said, then at least I should know about this. Some of it. Just – somebody please just tell me what you’re talking about!”

“You nearly dated a werewolf, creampuff,” Carmilla supplied her, keeping her expression on “bored” while she shot a glare at Danny’s puppy eyes. “I would say you have bad taste for that, but that would be condemning me, also.”

Danny scoffed. At Laura’s stare, though, she lowered her eyes. “Yeah.”

“You… you’re a werewolf?” Laura mumbled, staring at Danny now. “Whoa. I mean, it’s plausible; Carm’s a vampire and all. But… whoa.”

The werewolf seemed to take some pride in Laura’s reaction. She looked up again and shrugged, “It’s… not a big deal. The _Lophiiformes_ clanis more of a problem right now.”

“Not a _big deal?_ You turn into… what do you turn into?” Laura wondered, confused.

Carmilla brow furrowed. How was it that Laura had flinched away from her touch when she’d revealed her nature but was asking about Danny’s abilities? That was ridiculous.

“I – we have three forms,” Danny explained, still putting on that humble attitude. Ugh. “Human form, wolf form and hybrid form. You – you know what human form is. Wolf form is when we become our wolf selves, our… we turn into giant wolves. And hybrid form is a mix of the two. Wolves don’t tend to use that, though; it’s hard to control.”

Laura nodded enthusiastically, curiosity partially satisfied.

“Could we get back to the relevant part now?” Carmilla sighed. (The puppy eyes from the wolf were really grating.)

“Right, yes,” Laura agreed, pulling out the remaining chair and sitting down. “So… how do you fit in?”

Danny cleared her throat and sat up. “Okay, so… I’m a Lawrence, and the Lawrence family is the second most powerful family in Europe. We kind of… rule the lands here. Styria’s one of the territories we have. Other families have other territories but we own most of them. We secured them after the Ancient Beast Wars.”

“What was that?” the journalist frowned.

“Werewolves and vampires weren’t always buddies,” Carmilla jumped in at this point. She was well-versed in this subject, whereas she doubted Danny would possess the same level of knowledge about this. She needed to dilute the story for Laura to understand, however. “Ever since the creation of the two, they were sworn enemies, opposite in every way except their pride. Both sides provoked the other until a couple of particularly devastating battles caused a war to start throughout the world in the 10th century. It last for over two hundred years, and the fury at which they fought only dimmed at the end of the war. The werewolf population was halved but vampires lost two-thirds of their population. It was clear which side won, but neither side had enough resolve to celebrate or mourn their loss accordingly. Folklore about werewolves and vampires were around, and total exposure to the human race meant only death and suffering. To preserve their species, the two sides put aside their differences and vowed never to war again, blah blah blah. This happened in the 1400s, three hundred years after the official end of the Beast Wars. An alliance was formed, which still holds today.”

“Now werewolves and vampires _are_ friendly,” Danny continued the explanation, before glancing at Carmilla and adding, “Sort of.”

“We just don’t fight.”

“Yeah. Um, so vampires are allowed to come into our territories as long as they don’t kill everyone there and are pretty decent about rules. But there are some clans that just aren’t allowed at all, because they never got over the Beast Wars and are simmering in bitterness. The _Lophiiformes_ clan is one of those, and they’re pretty powerful. We don’t know the _exact_ reasons why they’re looking for a fight after so long, but all we know is they are and they must be stopped.”

“So you were part of one of the most dangerous clans in existence,” Laura frowned at Carmilla.

Carmilla sighed. Perfect. Just after she’d realised she’d fallen in love, as well. “Admittedly so.”

Laura was… quiet. “But you’re not going back, so that’s fine,” she blurted suddenly. “Anyway, continue.”

“Because the clan is so huge and capable of taking on the family here in Styria, they’re seen as an extreme threat. So our patrols are pretty much constant, we’re keeping in touch with other families, we’re stretching our limits to improve our fighting skills. We have to be totally ready so the civilians can be protected. But there’s only so much we can do before disaster strikes. Because they’re an extreme threat, they only have to take out a few officials before we can officially fight them. That means getting in other families, riling them up, and facing _Lophiiformes_ allies, too. Blood will be shed, people will die on both sides. It could _very_ easily reinstate a state of war throughout Europe.”

“ _War?_ ”

“The alliance is weak here. A few families are already eager to punch a few undead faces. If too many wolves die in the battle then they will be avenged by those keen werewolves. Similarly, if a human civilian dies by a werewolf or vampire’s hands, then war is automatically triggered,” Danny informed her, eyes unflinching.

The news hit Carmilla hard. This was catastrophic. When Michael had told her of what the clan was planning a few hours prior to this, she’d not anticipated war being so possible. The _Lophiiformes_ clan had merely seemed like a nuisance that needed to be rid from the Earth, like an infection or curable disease. But this? This put everyone she knew in danger.

If Mother and the clan succeeded, there was no telling what they would try to do next. Their regard for human life was non-existent; their arrogance was matched by no human Carmilla had ever had the displeasure of coming across. Life as they knew it would be gone forever.

This was grave news. Worse than she had expected. And – Carmilla realised with her heart plummeting – that they were right in the middle of it. All of them, from Danny to LaFontaine. All of them were involved by this due to association (except Danny; she was heavily involved in this due to being a werewolf), and all would get roped into fighting if they weren’t careful.

All were fragile, breakable. All could – and probably _would_ – die on the battlefield if they were in the proximity of it. Carmilla couldn’t let that happen to these people – these innocent humans – who had no say in this.

She usually preferred not to care about humans. She preferred not to care about anyone. But seeing Laura’s wide eyes from across the table, feeling her knee bump against Carmilla’s own, had forced her to do something that she would probably regret.

She had to save Laura, keep her out of harm’s way. If that meant her friends too, then so be it. (The less humans in on the fight, the better. Danny would understand.)

Carmilla had to keep them away from the inevitable battlefield that would fall upon the lands of Styria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular updates every Tuesday and Saturday!
> 
> By the way, I appreciate it so much when you comment, kudos or even read this. Over 4500 reads... that's actually incredible and I am so grateful that you even take the time to look at this. It means ever such a lot to me, so thank you!
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	13. Formal Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla and Laura were just so eager.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, holidays. I connected to a lot less wifi hubs than I expected to. Sorry about that :/ In penance, I'll be updating every day until Tuesday, where the normal regular updates will resume. So enjoy!

Laura was used to Carmilla being quiet. Laura was used to Carmilla having a frown on her face. She’d encountered it a lot when she’d first started getting used to the vampire. Smiles came more easily to Carmilla now, still just directed at Laura.

Especially after the hushed whispers and carefully concealed declarations in the kitchen, Laura would’ve thought that Carmilla would smile more. And yet, Carmilla was driving back to her flat and hadn’t said a word. That confused her.

“You’re being more of a broody grump than usual,” Laura noted, a teasing hint to her words.

The vampire kept her eyes on the road as they darted their way through Silas. “Do you get Brownie points for being so observant?”

“I wish,” Laura responded drily. “So… what are you thinking about?”

“Inevitable disaster. Traitorous actions and desires. Disappointment and loss. Things all too heavy for a drive back home,” was Carmilla’s easy response.

Without thinking, Laura reached over and clasped Carmilla’s leg with her hand. “It’ll be fine, Carm. I’m sure the werewolves have got this under control. We’ll take down your Mother, easily, and then we won’t have to worry about the Loopiformes—“

“ _— Lophiiformes,_ ” the vampire corrected her, her velvet voice sending a shiver of sorts down the journalist’s spine.

“Yeah, them. And then we can stay in Silas and it won’t be a problem. I mean, we have you on our side. And Michael. You’re two badass vampires that have amazing superpowers. We’ll be unstoppable.”

“We still don’t know why they’re so willing to fight. And it doesn’t change the fact that my mom will scoop out your eyeballs and serve them in martinis.”

Yeesh. Carmilla’s Mother sounded terrifying. Laura knew she was already – locking someone in a coffin of blood couldn’t put _anyone_ in your good books – but now they had to go up against her, she got that little bit worse.

It was never question of if Laura was involved in this or not. Of course she was. Carmilla had told her things that she would’ve dismissed as stupid a few weeks ago. (Granted, she lived in _Silas_ , so everything unnatural was reasonable, but war? No way. Definitely not.) And Carmilla was connected to her, by a link that ran deeper than they could really comprehend. If her soulmate wasn’t happy (or as happy as usual), she’d do everything she could to help the situation, regardless of what it was.

Struggling at work? She’d help Carm take her mind off it. Family problems? Laura would listen to her rant for as long as she was needed. Devastating war between two supernatural forces? She’d be fighting right alongside her.

She knew her soulmate would protest. She was _human_ after all – her death meant that war was triggered immediately. But she’d be damned if she left the vampire to deal with this all on her own. That wasn’t how Laura worked, how she wanted this to work with Carmilla. The image she had of them was them hand-in-hand, walking together through whatever life threw at them. She couldn’t see herself hiding in the background.

“We can _change_ that, though! I bet there’s some information on the _Lophiiformes_ clan somewhere, we just have to find it. And we can – we can inform Silas residents of what’s going on, send the information to the Bundespolizei, and help keep the clan out. They won’t know what’s hit them!” Laura grinned.

“Cupcake…” Carmilla sighed. “This whole gig is doomed. The best chance we have is to lie low and wait for this to blow over.”

“What, and watch people get hurt and die in the process? Not a chance, Carm. You know I can’t do that.”

They settled into silence after that; Carmilla drove, Laura plotted. The snow outside had stopped falling, but there was still a huge amount on the roads and Carmilla was busy having to deal with all of that. Besides, Laura’s brain was currently going at 100 miles per hour, thinking of all the things she could do to help the situation. Silas University Library had all the best references (the city’s other libraries were never up to scratch), and if she could persuade someone to go with her – because new-found-sense of bravery or not, she was _not_ going there alone – then there was the possibility of finding something useful. She could set up a vlogging series of the developments, if she was allowed, she could…

Her mind went over and over like that, coming up with new ideas and pruning the bad ones. What excitement she felt over doing something worthwhile for people was muted by the threat of war hanging over them. Her hand was still on the illustrator’s thigh.

It finally simmered down when Carmilla parked the car in the apartment block’s car park. The vampire stared at her, watched her, in the dark of the underground space, trying to discover what Laura was thinking – slowly peeling away all of Laura’s layers to show the true person inside.

And Laura was thinking something entirely different now. The memory of the moment in the kitchen – the clandestine, iridescent memory that she would treasure forever – was playing behind her eyelids in full force and her breath was uneven, faster in pace. And the way her soulmate was looking at her… The concern that had been etched over Carmilla’s features were safely hidden away behind the playful desire lighting up her face. Laura’s heart was really going for it now, knowing _she’d_ done that to the vampire. This emotion she’d never seen before on her face was suddenly so easy to read. And Carmilla usually made it hard to guess what she was feeling.

She felt really fucking special.

“Laura.”

She was quiet. The word itself was barely a whisper.

“Hey.”

“You need to take your hand off my thigh if you want to not freeze to death in the car.”

“Right. Yes. Sorry.” Laura laughed nervously as she obeyed her soulmate and they released their seatbelts to get out of the car. As soon as they were free of the metal contraption (albeit a metal contraption that ran a _lot_ smoother than Laura’s), Carmilla held out her hand for Laura to take. Fingers wrapping around each other, a warm smile forming on their lips, Laura felt giddy with anticipation.

Carmilla had secured an apartment on the top floor of the building. Perhaps taking the stairs all of the way would provide Laura with a way to conceal her rapid breathing, but her soulmate was insistent. Whatever Carmilla had had in mind, though, was dashed when the elevator doors opened to reveal an immaculately dressed woman clutching an expensive purse. She regarded the two lovers (could Laura say lovers? She wasn’t sure, they hadn’t _explicitly_ broached that conversation yet) with disdain and gave them disapproving glances whenever Laura giggled at Carmilla. And, yeah, she was probably giggling at her too much – but Carm kept playing with her hair and quipping flirty jokes and comments whenever she could. Laura couldn’t stop herself from melting into a metaphorical puddle because of those.

Seriously, what was that lady’s problem? Jeez. She couldn’t exactly help being head over heels for her soulmate.

The snooty woman hadn’t gone by the time the doors opened to the top floor. She stepped out with them – but she turned away as soon as she could, her Louboutins making dull thudding sounds against the floor. They stepped out onto the carpeted corridor, their soaked boots not making any significant marks on it, and marched to the vampire’s flat. It wasn’t that far to the door, so there were a few comments passed between them – “You’re killing me, Hollis.” “Yeah, but you were already dead.” – before they reached it. Laura was half-disappointed by the lack of distance (even though she _knew_ how short it was, she’d been here a few times before), but she was anticipating what might happen when they got to the other side of the door.

Because that was the thing – she didn’t know. Now they’d said their equivalents of “I love you”, all cards were on the table. The gates to their future had opened up that bit more; they were standing on the threshold, tentatively putting themselves across. And what would they do? Would they talk about it? Would they take the relationship slow or dive headfirst? The way the illustrator was holding Laura (in fact, she was sure Carm hadn’t stopped being linked with her in some way since the moment in the kitchen) felt like a constant comfort, a constant guiding light; she’d be there whenever Laura needed her, and she’d listen to what Laura had to say. That meant it was likely she’d already nosedived into this with her heart – but what she’d be willing to show, to explore, was something different.

These thoughts kept circling, kept fluttering around her headspace. Not unlike the butterflies that had taken flight everywhere inside of her.

They’d been chatting teasingly about Laura’s awareness of cooking – “Creampuff, I’ll put my foot down if your idea of “dinner with a date” consists of you feeding me your disgustingly saccharine treats” – as Carmilla was deftly shoving the key into the lock. With a click, it opened, and the vampire started opening the door.

“Maybe you can teach me how to cook,” Laura grinned. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

“I _was_ hoping to use our time in a more pleasing way—” Carmilla flirted, one hand on Laura’s waist still as she strode backwards into the hall.

“Carmilla! Oh, thank goodness. We thought you’d never come back,” the both of them heard.

They froze.

Perry appeared in the doorway, a spray bottle and a cleaning wipe in her hands, and a tight smile. (Probably because of what she’d just heard out of the vampire’s mouth. Laura had already blushed at that thought.) “LaFontaine is going through your commissions, because you got a new influx, and they need to take your finished ones to the clients. And your flat was dirty, so I cleaned.”

So _that_ was a total mood kill.

“Did it ever occur to the both of you to ask the resident before you crash their apartment?” Carmilla growled – and honestly, Laura couldn’t find it in herself to stop her. She felt that way too.

“Carmilla, you know this is part of your agreement with LaF. You gave them your key.”

“Because I _had_ to,” the vampire grumbled, moving away from Laura (the journalist felt the absence of her warmth immediately) to take off her boots. Louder, “I would just really appreciate it if you both disappeared off the face of the Earth right now.”

The journalist had already slipped off her shoes and was waiting for her soulmate. And whereas usually she’d jump to defend Perry, she couldn’t find anything to say. She was just agreeing, agreeing wholeheartedly.

Perry clicked on to the reason why. “I’m sorry, you two, but neither of us could have put this off for any longer. It’s a dire situation. Your clients are impatient and you… you need to tidy up more,” she responded, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the last part.

“What’s the point?” came Carmilla’s sigh.

“At least get a _maid_. I’m sure you can afford to pay one.”

The expression on Carmilla’s face told Laura what the vampire was about to say before she opened her mouth. So Laura jumped in, saying, “No, Perry, it’s okay. W-She wouldn’t want to deprive you of something you enjoy doing.”

Perry looked pleased; Carmilla just raised her eyebrows at her. It was a total lie, of course it was, but if it got Perry off of her soulmate’s back then she was happy to tell it.

“Perr! How many prawn crackers do you want?” LaFontaine called from the kitchen, and Perry turned to face the sound.

“Oh, that! We ordered a Chinese and we accidentally got enough for four people. Do you want to join us?”

Laura couldn’t say no to that. “Show me the food,” was her answer. When the satisfied Perry moved off into the kitchen, the journalist had to pull on Carmilla’s hand just to get her to move.

They were sat at the exquisite dinner table a few minutes later, with three of the four people present being terrified at the prospect of spilling any food on the elegant wood. Carmilla, on the other hand, couldn’t have cared less; while she wasn’t a messy eater at all, she just shrugged if a drop touched the surface of the table. Perry nearly had a heart attack. Soy sauce belonged in the mouth and mouth only, and certainly _not_ on priceless furniture.

The conversation was light, affable – whereas the journalist was welcoming and warm towards the both, Carmilla’s attitudes towards LaF and Perry were different. LaFontaine was obviously very comfortable with the vampire, even if Carmilla was merely civil. (Laura knew she was grateful of their presence in her life, though.) And Perry was only there because of LaF, so the journalist had to get Carmilla to behave a few times. The married couple, for the most part, took it in their stride – except for when Perry returned with a beer can for the illustrator, complaining about the fact that her blood packets were in total disarray, and had audibly gasped when Carmilla had shot back a filthy comment. Laura’s eyebrows had shot up when Perry had so easily mentioned Carmilla’s unusual drinking habits (since when did Perry know? Since when had she readily _accepted_ it? That felt out of place). When Carmilla had replied, she’d full-on choked on her glass of water.

 But the amiable conversations turned dark. They were bound to. And Laura didn’t understand at first.

A somewhat comfortable silence had descended on the table. Laura was still recovering from her choking fit, but still. It was quiet. Then LaFontaine offhandedly mentioned, “Oh, Karnstein, that Will guy messaged me again today. He still wants your cover. He sounds kinda desperate. I thought you talked to him already?”

The pair of chopsticks in the illustrator’s hand stopped moving. Carmilla’s mouth closed and she glared at her agent. “I told you, Bobsey Twin, I refuse to do that. He can find another illustrator; I’m not talking to him again.”

“What happened last time?” LaF frowned.

Carmilla’s jaw set. “None of your business,” she snarled.

“Carm,” Laura rushed in quickly, putting a hard on her soulmate’s arm. “Is this…?”

The deep brown eyes that locked onto hers were resigned, and looked _old_. Impossibly old, burdened with centuries of experience. Careful not to give her the wrong impression, Laura gazed back, eyebrows raised marginally. She was going to get an answer. She was. She was.

“Yeah,” was the heavy admittance, and Laura felt the air rush out of her slightly when she realised there was more to this mess than she already knew.

“So…? Do we get to know?”

“Yeah, maybe as your agent I should know about this too,” LaFontaine piped up through their noodles, a little snarky.

“Will is from the clan,” Carmilla confessed, looking at her soulmate only. “The book he wrote was sent to me as a threat – he knew where I was, he knew that he could come and get me if he wished. But he doesn’t have the strength to haul me back. We – I had to meet up with him just to try and get him off my back. I met Michael there, also. He tried to persuade me to go back to the clan, but I refused. Will always refuse. He’s clearly dumb enough to not give up regardless.”

“You lost me at “the clan”, Karnstein,” LaF responded after the heavy silence settled. “You’re going to have to elaborate.”

“Elaborate, and say if it involves us,” Perry added briskly.

A few moments of nothing. Just a decision being weighed in the vampire’s mind. Laura knew exactly what she was thinking – whether to tell the pair the whole truth or the partial truth. That was why the journalist whispered, “All of it,” to her, the words barely a whisper.

And haltingly, the illustrator did. Well, not all of it – she didn’t tell them everything Laura knew about Carm’s past – but all of the important things. During the retelling, Perry was focusing on stabbing her food with a resolve Laura had never seen before (her usual reaction to the very _not_ normal), and LaFontaine was almost treating it as a children’s fairytale. They knew it deserved seriousness, though, so didn’t comment on a single thing. And Laura was watching her soulmate, lightly encouraging her when the train of words halted.

Carmilla’s eyes flickered back to hers when she uttered the final words, “And I’m not going to go back. I’ve found my home.”

Laura gave her a warm smile in return and silently willed her heart to not burst out of her chest and explode all over the table. (Perry would definitely scream if that happened.) It certainly felt possible right now.

“So, what’s the action plan?” LaF questioned, mouth no longer full of Chinese food. They’d finished halfway through the illustrator’s story, after everyone else.

“There is no action plan,” was Carmilla’s immediate reply. “We sit tight and wait for the wolves to sort this out. I’m not risking—”

“We have to help,” the journalist cut her off. “I was thinking we could research, like go to Silas University Library or something? I know the archives appear in the sub-basement after dark, so maybe we could go there. Also we could try to find other ex- _Lophiiformes_ clan members. We already have Michael, so we’re doing well so far.”

Carmilla was staring at her like she’d just recited the entirety of a Doctor Who episode. (She’d tried it once.) Laura chose to ignore this.

“Alright, we’re in,” LaF grinned. “We’re gonna have to arm ourselves, ‘cause the Library can get freaky, but we’re totally for it. Aren’t we, Perr?”

The woman in question looked… well, daunted. And a bit petrified. “This is insane. We are… fighting an ancient vampire clan.” At the sight of LaF’s expectant gaze and Laura’s puppy eyes, she stuttered, “But – but… fine. I’ll help. Only to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

Laura immediately shot up straight in her chair and put on her most dazzling smile. “Great! Thank you so much, Perry!”

“Well, I’d rather see you safe than gallivanting on a suicide mission. And – yes, I’ll keep this in mind when it comes to your job, Laura. And Kirsch’s, too. It’s – it’s not like I don’t have other employees. It’s fine. It’s fine.”

“We so appreciate it,” the tiny brunette woman informed her earnestly. “And I’ll catch up as soon as this is over, I swear.”

“Don’t see it as an excuse not to come into work,” Perry reminded her, but it wasn’t as tense now.

“Never!” Laura gasped. No matter how irksome this “evil vampires versus werewolves” war got, she still had a job to do.

Carmilla was still looking at her like she was out of her mind. And as soon as LaFontaine and Perry were gone, the journalist knew she was going to have a few questions for her.

* * *

 

“What is it going to take for me to persuade you not to join this mess?” Carmilla sighed, gazing at her under her eyelids.

They were both on the bed now, Carmilla lying on her side and reading a book by Camus while Laura sat cross-legged and scribbled down some notes for work. It was past one in the morning (and Laura still didn’t feel tired); the smaller woman had changed into her flannel pyjamas and hopped onto the bed. Carmilla’s idea of pyjamas, however, was very different: just a tight t-shirt that kept riding up and distracting Laura completely. (That earned a few smirks from the vampire, and a few subsequent blushes from herself.)

She liked the fact that Carmilla had set aside a drawer just for Laura’s clothes that she was now keeping in this flat. She liked the fact that Carmilla had introduced her bedroom to the journalist quite early on, so she was quite okay with spending nights here. She liked the fact that everything was possible tonight.

She didn’t like the fact that they hadn’t talked about any of it – about Laura, LaFontaine and Perry getting actively getting involved in the supernatural showdown, or about what was going on between them now. She didn’t like the fact that Carmilla had instantly changed the conversation as soon as LaF and Perry had left. (The movie afterwards had been amazing, but still.)

And now Carmilla had put down her book, reaching behind her to set it on the bedside table and holding Laura’s gaze. The journalist immediately put down her notepad. Finally. They were talking about this.

“Nothing,” Laura responded, eyes unintentionally darting down to Carmilla’s lips. (Okay, not helpful right now. Not helpful.) “Nothing’s gonna convince me – _us_. I can’t just sit back while this battle goes on. I can’t leave my friends. You know I’m not like that.”

“Cutie, this brave streak you’ve got going on is admirable and all, but nothing you can do will help. This is _not_ your battle. I’m part of this, not you,” Carmilla responded, firm but quiet.

“Carm.” Laura shoved her notepad and pen down to the bottom of the bed and shuffled closer to the vampire. “I’m your soulmate. _Of course_ this is my battle too. They’re a threat to me too, for two reasons – because I’m associated with you, and because… I – I don’t want to lose you. Or Danny, or LaF and Perry, or Michael, or… anyone. I’ll do everything I can to stop that.” At her soulmate’s unchanged expression, she smiled sadly and added, “We’ve just found this. I don’t want to let this go. I would be inconsolable if I lost you now.”

The illustrator lifted herself up. “You could be safer away from me, from all this. You wouldn’t get hurt,” she murmured.

“Don’t say that, Carm. Don’t you dare,” Laura snapped, suddenly taken over by shock. “I’m _not_ leaving you. I _just_ said I don’t want to let this go. And –” she laughed “– I don’t even know what _this_ is. I – I don’t even know what it is, but there’s no way in hell or Hogwarts that it’s going to make me okay with not being with you.”

Carmilla just nodded, finally conceding. Her hand took her soulmate’s, but did nothing to answer the other topic Laura had mentioned.

Did the illustrator even want to talk about it? It looked like she didn’t. It was going to drive Laura crazy if it wasn’t resolved. It was starting to become possible that she’d just imagined the moment between them earlier, and if that was true then she didn’t know what she’d do. It had just – it had been so perfect. It was quiet, and sudden – but so, so perfect.

“What _is_ this?” the journalist eventually sighed. “’Cause we both know that something happened in Kirsch’s kitchen and I want to act on it. Like, now. And I don’t know if it was just me imagining things but I felt _something_ change between us, and suddenly you got really close and now I’m confused – what do you want this to be? How are we going to go from this? You’re not telling me what you want, and it’s annoying me because I know I want to – to…”

Carmilla’s eyes were shining. And for God’s sake, she looked _amused_ at Laura’s nervous rambling.

Laura slowed down, eyes locked with the vampire’s.

“…to kiss you.”

She felt Carmilla’s hands on the sides of her face before she saw them. She felt Carmilla move closer to her before she heard the bed creaking beneath the vampire. She felt Carmilla’s hot breath come into contact with her skin before she saw how there were only millimetres between them. And the last thing she felt before the distance between diminished completely was the pull she experienced from the intensity of the situation, from Carmilla’s sparkling eyes. The pull of lust, desire, need, _everything_. Carmilla was her everything, her adventure.

 _And_ , Laura thought detachedly as they brought themselves together, somehow still thinking despite everything, _no adventure has ever felt so good._

Carmilla’s lips were soft, so encompassing. And that was the strange thing – something so soft wouldn’t usually send flashes of fire through her own skin, down her nerves and into the very core of being. Something so soft wouldn’t usually tug at every fibre of her being, pull at the knot in her stomach and set her world alight. Something so soft wouldn’t usually be so demanding in the best of way, guiding her own lips on where to go and what to do.

It was strange, but it was perfect. The way Carmilla held her, tantalisingly trailed her fingers down Laura’s arms and to her waist when they kissed. The way – when they _both_ had to stop to catch their breaths and still their frenzied emotions – they bumped noses and smiled broadly at each other. The way – when they resumed – Carmilla let Laura take them down the path the smaller woman wanted, and humming appreciatively when Laura did something right. (For the record: Carmilla really had a thing for neck kisses.) It was perfect in every way, something even Laura – who’d spent a lot of her childhood thinking about how wonderful having a soulmate would be – hadn’t anticipated.

When they broke apart, finally finished with the kiss, Laura couldn’t help the giggle coming out of her mouth.

Carmilla’s smile widened at that, becoming even more dazzling than it already was. “I think you have your answer, sweetheart,” she purred.

Laura just nodded and leaned in again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular updates starting from this Tuesday! Every Tuesday and Saturday!
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	14. Running With the Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The surprises didn't seem to stop for Kirsch, and they came in many different forms; even Danny delivered one to him. Meanwhile, Laura and Carmilla shared a quiet moment. But if something could go wrong, then it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's currently 01:39 here in Britain, and I feel tired and elated. I got this chapter done for you lovely readers! So now I can sleep :P Remember, I'll be uploading every day until Tuesday, where the normal update schedule will resume. If it doesn't happen, you can complain to me about it. I hope you like this chapter!
> 
> Chapter title taken from Running With The Wolves // AURORA.

Michael was sleeping at Kirsch’s flat now. He hadn’t found a flat yet, ‘cause he was still searching for a job. And that was fine. It meant Kirsch got used to seeing his bro around again.

It was still totally weird though.

It could be described as “jarring”, this whole event. Sometimes Kirsch would come back to his flat to see Mike passed out on his couch – and he’d have to walk outside again and close the door behind him, counting to ten and backwards with slow breaths before going in. Sometimes he’d have to relieve himself of tears that he didn’t even have a reason for having. And sometimes, when Michael was awake and walking about, Kirsch had to just sit and think for a while.

Two years had made Kirsch’s mind a bit polluted, and the helplessness he’d felt ever since the policeman knocked on their door two years ago was still trying to stick around. It stuck around in the form of questions his brother didn’t want to answer yet: Had he killed anyone? When would he tell Jordanna and their parents? What would happen if the clan wanted Mike to go back?

But the hours weren’t filled with Kirsch being _awkward_ with his brother, no. Not all the time. Sorting his head out only took some of his time, but for most of the time it was like Michael hadn’t even left. Hell, Michael still called him Wilson. They still teased the hell out of each other, they still pitted themselves against each other on the Xbox. Kirsch still complained about Michael’s way-too-poppy taste in music that he’d sometimes be playing when Kirsch came back from a night out with his mates. (That included Laura and Danny, too. Those were usually timid nights out, compared to nights spent with the bros, but that didn’t mean they weren’t fun. Besides, Danny and Kirsch really loved teasing Laura about her relationship with the scary hottie.)

And Mike was grateful to be on good terms with Kirsch. The tall journalist could see that written all over his face. Mike was back to his usual self, smiling and laughing and always surprising Kirsch with how caring he was. (He’d never seen his flat look so _tidy_.) He’d known Mike all of his life – of course he was considerate – but he had never taken it for granted and was always pleasantly surprised when it happened. He was a decent roommate too. Never ridiculously messy, eating anything Kirsch gave him, saved water where he could.

It was totally weird, yeah, but it was nice. He’d miss his little bro when he moved into his own apartment. He’d actually come to resent the constant searches that Mike did.

It had been a week and a half since Michael had crept up on him and caused him to faint (he was never going to be able to forget it when Danny made the point of mentioning it, like, a _lot_ ), and Mike was doing just that – looking for an apartment. Though he couldn’t get one yet, he was searching in the immediate area to see what he’d like to get. This was on Kirsch’s laptop, and Kirsch was thinking how he really wanted to use it when someone rapped their knuckles against the door.

Michael’s head snapped up, and he breathed in through his nose. It wasn’t obvious, but Kirsch had come to expect it. When Mike’s nose crinkled in disgust, Kirsch knew who it was. “It’s Danny,” the younger brother confirmed. A half-sly, half-content smile formed on Michael’s lips, and Kirsch rolled his eyes at him before getting up to greet his soulmate.

“Hey, ginger hot—”

“Enough with the degrading sexist nicknames!” Danny sighed exasperatedly, sliding past him to move into the living room. “Haven’t I told you that a billion times?”

“I wasn’t counting,” Kirsch smirked, shrugging, and Danny hit his elbow with more force than he’d anticipated. He yelped and clutched his sore elbow before following her into the living room.

“Okay, vamp, you better start spilling your clan secrets now before I get pissed off and stake you,” the athletic ginger threatened Michael, frowning down at him from his place on the sofa.

Michael instantly stood up, fists clenched. “I told you, I don’t have anything!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Kirsch shouted, landing between the both of them. “Stop fighting, dudes, this isn’t fair. I can’t have you two tearing each other apart.”

“Maybe if Mikey here actually helped instead of wasting his hours doing nothing, then we’d be okay,” Danny retorted, making the tall journalist’s brow furrow even more.

“Dude, shut up. Don’t be like that. I believe Mike, okay? He’d tell you more if he could.” He turned to his dead brother. “Right?”

“Right!” Michael barked. “Why do you need this information, anyway? It’s not like you’ve got a bone to pick with the clan personally.”

“Trust me, bloodsucker, I do,” the ginger one snapped. “The Committee are restless and they keep demanding I get more information from you and Mistress of the Snark. And to top it all off, Laura’s _research_ she’s making us do at ungodly hours in that creepy library is coming up with nothing except bruises and flaming flying books. We _need_ info about the clan if the Lawrences are gonna get the upper hand.”

“I was never a big part of the clan,” Michael shrugged, defeated. “I just had Will following me around, trying to be a bro and all that.”

“Would Will be able to tell us anything?”

Michael shook his head. “He wasn’t much older than me.”

“What about Carmilla? Have you got anything from her?”

“She knows less than me, mudpaw, remember? She – she’s reluctant anyway. Around the wolves.”

“She owes us,” Danny retorted, before thinking about something else. “And it’s not just us. Unless Laura’s there she won’t talk.”

Kirsch was really confused. By, like, everything. Mike had told him about this clan he used to belong to but nothing about _wolves_. And what did he and Danny even mean by that anyway?

In fact, why was Danny even involved in this? Seriously, the less people he cared about getting mixed up with evil clans and vampires and that, the better.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Kirsch interrupted. “ _What_ is this about, like, _wolves_ and stuff? And “mudpaw”? And I swear Carm-sexy called you “wolfie” once? Dudes, what’s going on? Why are you talking about canines and stuff?”

Danny just stared at him, jaw set but sympathy in her eyes. “You really haven’t figured it out, have you?”

“Figured what out, ginger hottie? That, like, werewolves exist? ‘Cause that’s just ridiculous, I mean I know _vampires_ exist, but…”

The way his brother and his soulmate were looking at him. Like they couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Like it _wasn’t_ ridiculous or anything. Like… like werewolves did exist.

“Guys, _no_.”

* * *

 

No more information. Increasingly frustrated werewolves. Boring classes. A pervading sense of helplessness in all aspects of her life. Yeah, Danny was doing _just_ fine.

She’d been banking on extracting more information from Michael today. The Committee were expecting it; they were getting restless about the “vampire problem” (Danny winced whenever she heard that) and they needed more details about the clan immediately. The Fenris family were only willing to fight once they had a sufficient reason for it, and that was aggravating the lesser families. They were already gagging for a fight, while the Lawrences were holding back in support of the ruling family. Annoyingly, the Fenris family still didn’t see the evidence they _did_ have as enough, not yet. They didn’t even see it as valid – only Michael going in front of the Committee would convince them completely. And Michael had given them everything he could. (Who was to say that he would be trusted even before he got to the confession stage?)

Danny wasn’t wary of vampires. She’d fought off a rogue vampire once; while her parents had been worried sick for her, she hadn’t been bothered at all. In fact, she was quite okay with them. (Not with their smell, though; that reeked.) However, she didn’t trust anyone in the _Lophiiformes_ clan. That was why she’d taken to disliking Carmilla so easily.

Okay, and there was jealousy involved. But Danny liked to think that it only played a small part.

(It didn’t.)

But when Michael had appeared in Kirsch’s living room, and subsequently made him faint, she wasn’t as defensive as she thought she’d be. It hadn’t taken all of her resolve to stop herself from clenching her fists and running at him. When Laura had walked into the room, it had flared up a little – but Michael had never seemed like he was going to hurt any of them.

And that was the problem. He was from the _Lophiiformes_ clan, yes – so all alarm bells should have been ringing – but there was something about him that was so… young, so innocent.

Was she really calling a bloodsucker innocent? Yes, apparently she was.

But it was clear to see that Michael had been with that particular clan out of unfortunate circumstance rather than choice. He just didn’t belong there. He belonged with his family, and it was getting clearer to see as the days went by. He’d been so young when he was killed, and still so young when he was enrolled into the clan. There was nothing in it for him, and he’d come back to be where he belonged. Home. And Danny didn’t blame him for that, not at all. Her family were the most important thing in her life too (when she’d been an athlete, it had still been her top priority; it had killed her to see her siblings and cousins ostracise her).

So she wasn’t going to rip him apart, no matter how much she threatened it. She certainly _could_ , if she wanted to, but Michael didn’t deserve that. He deserved to be given his second – no, third – chance.

Kirsch would’ve broken all over again as well, and as much as Danny disliked the frat boy, she couldn’t bear to see that.

She did dislike Kirsch. He was annoying and oblivious and sexist and he totally lacked common sense ( _which_ , Danny thought, _should help in these uncommon circumstances, right? And yet it doesn’t. At all_ ),but he did care about others. He cared about everyone so much, and he could be pretty funny sometimes. He was very easily teased, too, so that was a plus.

She didn’t hate him. And – honestly? – she doubted she even hated him at the start. There was something about the stigma behind soulmates that sort of stopped that from happening, anyway. Admitting that to him had only made her dislike him less, though she figured it would take a long time for her to stop disliking him fully.

“Hey, ginger,” came a voice from behind her. It was Kirsch; had she been aware of her surroundings she would’ve heard him come in. (She would’ve heard his footsteps from downstairs.)

She turned her head towards his direction slightly and responded with a simple, “Hey.”

He’d brought her coffee, the only thing he had in his kitchen that wasn’t beer or water. And that was considerate of him, but he didn’t know how Danny liked it or anything like that. Still, she’d drink it.

He sat down on the sofa next to her, closer to her than she would’ve preferred. Michael had gone into the other room (presumably to get ready to go out), so that wasn’t a problem – but the sofa wasn’t huge and Danny and Kirsch _were_. Yet it didn’t seem to bother the journalist at all. “Thanks for telling me all that, mudpaw,” he smiled at her, handing her the coffee.

“Don’t call me mudpaw,” Danny growled, guilt coursing through her a few seconds later when Kirsch blinked at her, surprised and hurt. “It’s… not exactly an endearing nickname. Michael must have got that from the clan. …And thanks. For the coffee.”

“What _can_ I call you, then?” he wondered. “I’m totally fine with not calling you that.”

“Is just calling me Danny that hard for you?”

“Dude, that’s boring. It’ll be like a codename.” He gasped suddenly; she looked up at him, confused. “D-Bear! I’ll call you that!”

She groaned, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “Wilson, _no_!”

“Why not? It’s cool.”

“It’s ludicrous, and I’m not even a bear,” Danny complained, before taking a great gulp of her beverage. “Get the right animal, at least.”

“Whatever, D-Bear,” Kirsch grinned. “Can you come up with something better?”

The werewolf sighed resignedly, accepting the fact that an old family tale was better than suffering from being called _D-Bear_ (God, he was cheesy as well as exasperating).

“There… there can be names assigned to each werewolf family,” she started tentatively, “and it usually has a story behind it. It’s just a kid’s tale now, but traditionally it had a lot of importance. It revolves around the first recorded Lawrence.”

Kirsch was gazing at her, enraptured. She thought she’d be put off by his eager puppy face. Yet she wasn’t.

“He was a warrior, he talked about justice and loyalty. He began life as a poor boy, running free in the fields surrounding his father’s farm. He loved nature and liked running wild, but ultimately his loyalty was with his family. He was expected to take over the farm when his father died, as he was the oldest of three sons. His father was very ill, and he was more than willing to take it over. Around the age of 16, he developed a passion for sword fighting, and he became plagued by “the sickness” – basically that was him becoming a werewolf for the first time. He grew up like that, never quite in control of his wolf form, but he proved to be a great soldier so he was exempt from normal rules. Instead of taking over the farm, he went to the Army in what’s now Austria, and he rose in the ranks really quickly. But he lost control of wolf form while on patrol somewhere, and he was forbidden from fighting for his country.

“It very nearly destroyed him; he had a great faith in justice and doing what was right for his country. And the Army suffered from it, but they were stubborn because of the way he’d acted. The —” Danny frowned, struggling to remember “— apparently he killed two senior officers, or maybe three; I can’t remember. Whatever it was, it wasn’t his best moment.”

“Not cool,” Kirsch agreed, holding on to every word she said.

“It’s hard to control, though.” Danny felt a sudden urge to defend the complexities of werewolf behaviour. “Anyway, instead of being in the army, he devoted his life to helping the people in his community. They knew him, they knew he didn’t deserve being banned. His brothers were still on the farm, and when he came back disgraced they took him in and built up his courage again. They were both werewolves, too, so they knew what he was going through. When he suggested his idea to use their supernatural ability to protect the village, they loved it. The village would help out with the farm if they could, and in return justice would be administered by the Lawrence brothers. They weren’t addressed by their names anymore; they were called “Beschützer”.

“The oldest Beschützer devoted his whole life to serving and protecting, but he wrote about it too. He set out what he did and how people like him with “der Wolf Krankheit” – “the wolf sickness” – should act. That was when he’d found more people like him, more werewolves, and when his family grew. He was seen as the father of the ones he protected, Father Lawrence, so the book was taken really seriously. In fact, Roland Fenris, the head of the Fenris werewolf family, even said he liked it. And it made him popular again, popular enough to let the Army lift its ban on him serving with them. He didn’t serve full-time, though, just helped out, but he was so skilled that he only ever lost one battle. He always returned to his area, though, so he could protect the residents.

“The battle he lost was his last one. I can’t remember who it was against, but when the fighting happened in the streets he disobeyed the Army’s orders and sought to help the civilians getting hurt. The story goes that he tried to get a pair of children – a little boy and his younger sister – out of the way when an enemy soldier wounded him. He carried them to their mother in his wolf form, an arrow sticking out of his side. Then he was overwhelmed by more soldiers and killed. He died doing what he loved, really. Protecting others.”

Danny still remembered the first time she’d heard that story. She had been eight, and all of the Lawrence kids born at that time had been sat around the fire doing something or other as their mom had told them that. Those who hadn’t heard it before were enraptured; those who had still loved it. It was filled with magic, adventure, and Danny’s heart had filled with pride at the fact that their ancestor had done so much for others. This guy had been _real_ , and his blood was flowing through her.

Kirsch’s mouth was slightly ajar, eyes glazed as the story played behind his eyes. When he noticed Danny had stopped speaking, he came back to reality and smiled, his heartbeat slowing down again. (She wasn’t listening out for it, she just heard it.) “Amazing, D-Bear. You’ve got some cool family. But that’s not a nickname. _And_ – you didn’t even tell me his name.”

“Idiot,” Danny muttered, rolling her eyes, “I was just getting to that.” She breathed in, sat up straighter in the sofa. “His name was Danjad. Danjad Lawrence. I was named after him. I’m not called Danjad though, just Danny.” The corners of her lips turned up at her last sentence, because that was something she was especially proud of. “And we call ourselves _Danbeschützer_ , after him.”

“It suits you,” Kirsch complimented her, without a moment’s hesitation. And there was something in the way he said it that convinced her that he really did believe it.

So maybe that was why she felt the need to confess something else.

“Sometimes I don’t think so,” she sighed, looking away now. “Sometimes I don’t think I deserve that. That name – it’s got huge importance attached to it, you know? And I feel like this whole athlete was the reason why I don’t deserve it. I just – I just loved it so much that I didn’t want to think that I had to give up on it. It was cowardly of me. Danjad wouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s not cowardly. You were just… focused. And you don’t _have_ to give up on it,” her soulmate insisted, and she looked back at him. “Like, you can do sporty stuff, right?”

“I’m learning to become a personal trainer, and it sucks,” Danny snorted. “Not the sort of thing I’d hoped for.”

“Maybe…” His voice held elements of hope in it, and his brow was furrowed intensely as he thought about something. “Maybe not that, then. Are you sure you can’t do any competing?”

Danny just shook her head. “It exposes us. Humans aren’t supposed to know that we exist. So there’s nothing set up for werewolves.”

“But I know,” the journalist frowned.

“You’re my soulmate,” she reasoned, her voice a lot softer than she’d intended it to be. “You’re supposed to know.”

“Oh, cool,” Kirsch swallowed. There was a pause, a comfortable silence where Danny sipped the last of her coffee (it actually wasn’t that bad), and Kirsch thought. Then he spoke again, a great rush of words spurred on by his excitement. “Why don’t _you_ set up a competition? For, like, werewolves only? It could be all athletic stuff, like a Werewolf Olympics. And you could advertise it to your families and get everyone involved. And you could train them or compete yourself and – and – and – Danny this could work!”

She was silent. Really, she was thinking.

She could see it all. Going to the Werwolf Ausschuss für Osteuropa with Kirsch’s idea, suggestions and propositions planned out. Finding a day and a venue for the games, scouring the werewolf population for budding athletes. It would cost a lot, sure, but it had the potential to generate a _lot_ of money for the Committee, and it would provide jobs for werewolves who were unemployed just like her. Hell, it would even give them the chance to follow their dreams. Something Papa Lawrence never had. Something Danny had thought she had.

The main problem was the money. She’d have to convince her parents and the Committee to give her some to start this business, and her track record wasn’t the best. But this had the best intentions behind it, something so characteristic of Kirsch’s ideas.

And there was the planning. She’d have to do a ton of that. She wasn’t totally business-minded, either. But a lot of the Fenris werewolves were in business (and sometimes _big_ business), so with some persuasion she could enlist a Fenris’ help. The preliminary planning, though, didn’t need a professional.

All in all, it could be perfect. If she worked hard for it.

Asking Danny to work hard was like asking a bird to fly. She’d done it all her life.

And immediately, she knew who she had to call.

“Kirsch, you’re a genius,” she responded finally, the elation in her voice evident from a mile away.

“I am?” was his reply, surprised and flattered. (She could also hear his heartbeat pick up and start pumping irregularly. That she’d have to think about later.)

“Absolutely,” she affirmed, standing up now. “I – I have a call to make. Thanks for – everything.”

Part of her – the part that didn’t get on with Kirsch, the part that usually won out – would later regret calling him a genius. It would only inflate his ego. But the rest of her didn’t regret it at all. It was deserved. Just like that, he’d given her another chance again. She couldn’t begin to describe how grateful she was for it.

And that was the part that won out this time.

* * *

 

Things were pretty great for Laura.

Okay, _maybe_ her work was really lacking nowadays, because she spent most of her time either with Carmilla or researching. And the researching was – as of this moment – fruitless, yeah, but it was pretty fun. It was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating to be caught in a whirlwind of flaming books. Danny really didn’t find it as fun, but LaF certainly did. They lived off this kind of stuff – doing all the things they shouldn’t be doing in their plight for information. All of the outright insane things. As LaFontaine had put it, “We tape our flamethrowers to our pulse rifles and we make the weird submit.”

Laura liked their dedication to this. Perry didn’t so much. (She refused to take part in the library expeditions, too.)

Carmilla didn’t, either. She thought it was best for them all to lie low and let this pass over them. The less they got involved in this, the smaller the risk of being hurt.

But Laura was scared for her friends – for Danny and her family, for Michael and Kirsch, for LaF and Perry, for _Carmilla_. Carmilla was being sought out for leaving the clan. Carmilla was in danger, and because Laura was as close with her as she was, Laura was a part of that too.

It was natural for her to want to protect the people she loved. Just to protect _people_ , innocent people who’d be hurt or taken or worse for something they hadn’t done. It was an integral part of her, just like her love for adventure.

And, actually, her appetite for adventure was being satisfied with this. Never in her wildest dreams had she envisioned any of this – any monsters, any werewolves, any badass vampire soulmates (could she say girlfriend? She still wasn’t sure). In fact, she would’ve _adored_ this as a child. It had everything she could ever want in a piece of fiction. Intrigue, romance, danger.

Now she was in it, she could understand the character’s worries. How it didn’t feel quite as exciting when the people you loved were being threatened. So it was full of adventure, yes, but it wasn’t as enjoyable when the threat of being torn from the people you cared for most hung over your head every single day.

Nothing had really happened yet, though (if you didn’t count being trapped in a swirling vortex of flaming books, only to be saved by a werewolf who _really_ hated fire).  No near-misses, no playing with victims, no bandaged wounds or broken bones. Laura was thankful for that. At least, it meant she could read through the books she’d salvaged from the blazing escapades LaF, Danny and her got through. They always ended up being useless, or impossible to decipher, but it was worth a try anyway.

Laura was reading one such unhelpful book now. Having used the first half of her daylight hours to finish the overdue work from _The Styria Herald_ , she’d been going through this substantially large tome on The Ancient Beast Wars. Yeah, it was interesting, but a lot of the terms used flew over her head and it was written in a stiff, formal manner that made Laura’s eyes cross with concentration. And there wasn’t a _thing_ on the _Lophiiformes_ clan, even though what she’d heard from Danny had made the impression that they were one of the most formidable clans in the war.

No, it was much more interesting to watch Carmilla paint.

She’d let herself in to Carmilla’s flat, as organised by the two of them, but her soulmate hadn’t been there to greet her like usual. She’d called out, only to get a quiet response from the vampire in the art room. It was clear that Carmilla hadn’t been planning on moving, so Laura had slipped off her shoes and tiptoed over to the art room. Her soulmate didn’t even look at her, just told her she wanted Laura to be with her while she painted – and what could Laura do but obey? She’d given the illustrator a quick peck on the cheek on the way over to the desk chair, and that had been the extent of their contact; Laura had started pouring through the ridiculous book and Carmilla had continued painting.

She was painting the picture of Laura again. The morbid one. The last time Laura had seen it, it was incomplete, but still effortlessly beautiful. Carmilla had outlined what she was going to paint in some places, and had filled in the detail in others. Obviously, she’d been excited to see the finished product, but Carm had been taken up by a whirlwind of commissions again, so it had had to be put away for a while. But now she was painting the picture of Laura once more, and the tiny gay journalist’s heartbeat had picked up when she’d seen it.

It was hard to concentrate when her soulmate was painting. She’d tried to get herself focused on the book again, squirmed around in the chair a lot to help – but it was no use. The tiny print was starting to float across the page. She’d have to ask LaF if they could do any better.

She groaned and shut the book with a loud _slap_. Carmilla didn’t hesitate in her focus, not once.

That was fine. Laura could just watch the vampire paint instead.

It was oddly therapeutic, watching her paint. It was kind of like time had slowed down just enough so Carmilla could be precise in her movements without rushing into things. Every brushstroke was deliberate, every dot she placed perfectly aligned. When Carmilla’s eyes roamed the canvas, it was a careful gaze, as if the painting were that delicate it could crumble under a critical eye. The illustrator treated it like something that could ruin her if it went horribly wrong. Movements were calculated and executed in the most perfect way. And Laura was enraptured by all this.

“You’re staring, creampuff.” Carmilla’s comment was so casual that Laura blinked a few times before blushing.

“Uh – um,” she stuttered, gaping like a fish out of water. “You just – it’s fascinating to watch. You, I mean. When you paint.”

“I thought that book was more your thing.”

The journalist glanced down at the book in her lap, and looked back up. Carmilla still hadn’t looked at her. “It got boring.”

“Pleasing to know you only think of me when you’re bored,” the vampire responded drily.

Laura snorted. “Please. You’ve been on my mind a lot more. For all sorts of reasons.”

Did she just say that? She really just said that. Wow, Laura.

Carmilla smirked, eyes still on the canvas. “Now that _is_ good to hear.”

They were silent again. Laura wasn’t quite sure what to say. She licked her lips and played with her hands a bit. This was _Carmilla_ , she didn’t know why she couldn’t speak to her.

“I don’t usually let people in here,” the vampire admitted, and her voice was smaller. “It’s not something I do. I didn’t want the ex-frat boy in here, going through my stuff.”

“It was his job.”

“I know. But a lot of this is private. No one sees it but myself.”

And now Laura could, too. “But you’re so _good_ ,” Laura breathed. “All of this is incredible. Why don’t you sell it?”

“Money was never important to me,” the illustrator responded quietly. “Emotions, more so. Selling them would be exposing more of myself to the world than what I’m comfortable with. So no one gets to see. It’s better that way.” At last, Carmilla’s eyes flickered to Laura’s, and the younger woman’s breath caught. “Except you.”

Those words rang heavy in Laura’s mind. Carmilla was exposing her vulnerabilities to her soulmate. And, looking at the collection of personal paintings in the corner, Laura could see that the paintings _were_ raw, heartfelt, a small window into the vampire’s mind. The messiest ones – the ones with shorter, sharper strokes on the canvas – were the angriest ones. Everything else was finely tuned, expertly defined.

“It’s a privilege I’m thankful of, Carm,” Laura smiled at her, truthful in her words. She’d seen a side to her soulmate that no one else saw.

The illustrator smiled back at her – an actual smile, something the smaller of the two was getting quite good at causing – and went back to her work.

Silence settled again. Laura fidgeted before deciding to pick up the book again. The paragraphs were like before – unsatisfactory, undecipherable and unhelpful – so it wasn’t long before it was shut again with the same conviction as before.

“Okay, I give up,” Laura groaned to herself.

“Something bothering you, sweetheart?”

Was Laura ever going to get over how velvety her soulmate’s voice was? The answer was absolutely, definitely not.

“This is _not_ working, it’s just useless,” she sighed in response. “ _I_ feel useless.”

“Alright, then. Come over here so I can get your features right.” The painter had put down her brushes and grabbed a pencil, her eyes piercing into Laura’s.

The journalist could only comply. She used the chair’s wheels to scoot along the room until she was sitting next to Carmilla, watching her as a small smile punctured her attitude of broodiness. “I doubt you’ll get it wrong, Carm, you’re _amazing_ at this.”

“A master has to start somewhere,” was all she got as a reply, before the illustrator brought Laura’s chair closer to her. Laura looked up at the older woman, a tad surprised by the sudden movement. “Smile, sundance. The wrong impression from the painting can ruin it.”

It was best to obey. No point questioning the master about their own trade.

So there Laura sat, for a long time, letting Carmilla paint her. The same feeling of calm she’d had when watching the vampire paint washed over her again, this time a lot more effective now she was so close to the illustrator. The smile came naturally to her; she stared at her soulmate, looking at how her eye twitched and her mouth pouted when she contemplated her next move, how her head tilted to the side when she really concentrated on the small details. Laura watched Carmilla shuffled on her stool every time she moved on to the next part of the face, and noticed how speculative her soulmate looked when she was taking in Laura’s real features to translate on the painting version of her. She was enraptured; totally, completely. She loved it.

“What were you reading?” she was asked after ten minutes of quiet, synced breathing. The illustrator was examining her face again, delicately taking Laura’s face and pivoting it to get a better view of her cheekbone.

The journalist was only aware of the fact that the vampire had spoken to her after the words had left Carmilla’s lips. She jolted back to life. “Um, a detailed and incomprehensible book about the Ancient Beast Wars,” she answered, clearing her throat. “I didn’t get anything about the _Lophiiformes_ clan from it. It’s really interesting, though, it’s got stuff about the weapons they used against each other and what was going on at the time. Well, I think that’s what it was talking about, anyway. It’s kind of hard to read.”

The raven-haired woman glanced down as she placed her pencil down beside her, before a bemused smile formed on those dark lips of hers. “Maybe that’s because it was centred on the _British_ experience of the Ancient Beast Wars, cupcake. They wouldn’t have had anything to do with a European clan. Better luck next time.”

Yeah, that made a lot of sense. “God, I’m such an _idiot!_ ” Laura moaned, putting her head in her hands. “There was so little time to get out and I needed to get a book and the _only_ book we got was one that isn’t even relevant. Ugh!”

“Well, hey, if you’re murdered by a group of intemperate and dangerous vampires, you can tell them all about vampire life in 10th Century Britain.”

“Not helping, Carm,” was the journalist’s reply, though it had made her grin a little bit.

“Laura,” Carmilla smiled, her voice soft. Gently she pried the journalist’s hands away from her head. “It’s not a big deal. You can look for another book. It’s fine.”

“If the sub-basements haven’t burned down yet,” Laura reminded her pointedly. It wasn’t nearly as conflicted as it was meant to sound, though; Carmilla had pulled the younger woman’s hands down and they were entwined now, calming Laura down considerably.

“I imagine Silas University would do all it could to preserve that godforsaken place. If they chose not to, I’d have to pay them a visit. I’d complain about the state of the building that my girlfriend just _adores_ visiting when she feels like risking her life,” the illustrator smirked, the black paint on her nose even more noticeable now it was closer to Laura’s face. In fact, the whole of Carmilla was closer to the journalist. (She wasn’t complaining, of course.)

“You are unbelievable,” Laura chuckled, her sensations set alight partly because the vampire had just called her _her girlfriend_ , and partly because of how small the distance between the two was. She couldn’t even keep her eyes trained on Carmilla’s; they kept flicking down to her lips.

“I guess I should just be happy you haven’t gone on another suicide mission for some books.”

“I had better plans tonight.” The vampire’s girlfriend was keen to steer the conversation back onto the path she wanted. And she knew exactly what she wanted.

“Care to share, cupcake?” Carmilla murmured, the crooked smile and the raised eyebrow pushing Laura over the edge.

Laura pressed forward and captured the illustrator’s lips with her own, revelling in the sparks that pulsed around her body when their lips touched. Carmilla quickly took control, biting Laura’s lip and pulling her back for more, letting go of Laura’s hands (she immediately felt their absence) and bringing them to cup her face. The brunette couldn’t help it; she sighed into the kiss and pulled herself even closer to the vampire, wanting to press herself against all that she possibly could in this moment. Her hands settled on Carmilla’s waist, squeezing it when a new wave of desire rushed through her as her soulmate pushed deeper into the kiss. The air between them was electric, full of unfulfilled desires and satisfied desires; full of unspoken thoughts and established reasons. They both delighted in it, it charged them on. Carmilla had just bitten down on Laura’s bottom lip (she hadn’t expected it to happen, and she hadn’t expected to enjoy it so much, but her thoughts of _God, that was good_ translated as an audible moan) – when Laura’s cell phone rang.

Whoever decided that calling right now was a good idea was going to receive the shock of a lifetime.

Very reluctantly, Laura pulled away and dug the phone out of her pocket, pressing the _Answer_ button on her phone without even looking at who was calling her. Her soulmate took this as an opportunity to plant small kisses across Laura’s jawline and on her neck, forcing Laura to clutch her thigh in order to stop herself from kissing Carmilla back. She brought the phone up to her ear and snapped, “Okay, you’re going to have to have a _very_ good reason to be calling me and interrupting something _extremely_ importan—”

“Laura, are you with Carmilla?” came Danny’s tightly wound voice.

The journalist frowned, and dropped her angry tone. “Um, yeah, why? Do you need her? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, we sorted it, it’s just you need to tell her that Will was here again.”

The vampire stiffened and sat up properly, removing herself from planting kisses across Laura’s neck. “Why was he here?”

“She heard you. And she asked why he was here,” Laura relayed obediently.

“Hollis, I can hear her. Werewolf hearing and all.”

“ _Oh_ , right, okay. Of course, sorry,” Laura laughed nervously. (That was something she was still getting her head around. Danny, a _werewolf_. And Carmilla was a vampire; both were hare-brained ideas but, weirdly, they made sense.)

“Don’t worry about it, L. Um…” For the first time the journalist noticed how heavy the werewolf’s breathing was. Her eyes connected with Carmilla’s; they reflected how confused she felt. “He was… he was in your dad’s house.”

Laura froze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular updates every Tuesday and Saturday!
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	15. Not Ready to Depart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some departures were good, while some departures were downright awful. Unfortunately for Laura, she seemed to be really taking the brunt of it right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sleep is for the weak :)) Remember, I'll be uploading on Tuesday too (even though it's past midnight here in the UK), and then on Saturday. For now, though, enjoy more drama! Ooh!

Will didn’t kill him.

Laura was obviously very thankful of that fact. Otherwise, she happily would’ve organised a hunting party to find him and then stake him personally. That was without mentioning the grief she’d go through if her father did die.

But she didn’t have to think about that. Danny and Jackson – her little brother, she’d met him before – staked him when he was running out of Silas. He was no longer a problem. The journalist preferred it that way.

That didn’t mean her heart hadn’t started hammering in her chest when she’d seen the smashed window, and it definitely hadn’t stopped when she’d seen her father’s gaunt face, still shaken from the confrontation he’d had last night. Laura couldn’t imagine how that must have felt when he’d heard the window breaking and heard the intruder sneaking around his house. She couldn’t imagine how he must have got the courage to stand in front of Will, knowing there was something pretty off about the situation. Will could’ve killed him in an instant, but he chose not to.

When her father had hugged her upon her arrival, they’d stayed like that for a bit, comforting each other and making their heartbeats slow down. Papa Hollis always had a knack of doing that – whenever something went wrong for him, he put his little girl first. He made sure she was okay, that she wasn’t upset by it. Sure, he _was_ a bit extreme sometimes (she was the only girl in college who’d been sent a packet of bear spray for every day of the week), but he had the best intentions. She was his dad, she’d never leave him. And he’d never leave her.

“No point crying over spilt milk, sweetcheeks,” he’d whispered when they’d let go of each other. He used his thumb to brush a tear away from her face, a tear Laura hadn’t realised she’d shed. “Or, y’know, a smashed window. Everything’s okay.”

She’d sniffed and laughed at herself, quietly, before pulling herself together and walking into the kitchen. She needed hot chocolate right now. (Her dad always kept a packet in his cupboards just for when Laura came over.)

As the milk boiled, her dad came in to join her. Already, he’d perked up. His face didn’t look as worn; it held new life. In fact, he looked almost relaxed again. Almost.

When the milk had finished boiling, Laura took it off the stove and poured it into her cup. It was too hot to drink right now, so she just turned around to face her dad, hands gripping the counters.

“Do you know him?”

Her head darted up to meet her father’s line of sight. She sputtered, “W-What?”

He was standing awkwardly, shuffling onto each foot regularly. “He – uh – he seemed to know you. He was talking about you. Did you know him?”

Laura swallowed. She couldn’t answer that now. That meant her new world would collide with her older one and she did _not_ want that to happen, not yet. “What was he saying?”

“Um…” Her father frowned down at the floor. “That this… would work. That he’d hurt you and hurt Carmilla and he’d get her back, or something. That you deserved this. I – I don’t know, he wasn’t making much sense. He didn’t seem to be very stable. He was very twitchy, eyes roaming the same fixed position. I didn’t let him say much more than that. I held up my baseball bat and sprayed my bear spray at him.” He chuckled humourlessly before adding, “He sure didn’t like that. It got him angry, though. I’m just glad the cops came in time.”

“When did you call them?”

“As soon as I was sure it was a burglar in my house. That’s always the best option, sweetheart. Never leave it too late to get yourself some extra help,” he informed her, and Laura knew he enjoyed instructing her about these sorts of things. That was why she’d said it. It didn’t serve as good enough a distraction, though. “So? Do you know him?”

“Carmilla knew—uh, knows him. Not very well. They don’t get on,” Laura supplied. It was the best she could do.

Her mind was reeling with what her father had said. Will had come purely to play with her, to persuade Carmilla to come back. He was getting to Carmilla through _her_. That was messed up, and Laura despised the fact that the situation with the _Lophiiformes_ clan had come to this already.

And even though Will was dead, he was history now, he wouldn’t be the only one to be thinking the way he did. There were masses of vampires involved in this, and any of them could strike at any given moment. She needed to make sure, therefore, that they were safe – all of them. Carmilla, Kirsch, Michael, Danny, her dad. Even LaFontaine and Perry were in danger now. That was why she’d readily welcomed the ideas that Danny and Jackson had suggested the previous night.

After the phonecall, they’d all gone over to Carmilla’s flat (much to Carmilla’s resentment) to console Laura. Carmilla had been doing a _fine_ job, but she’d also needed the updates from Danny and Jackson. And while she hadn’t expected SJ (Sarah Jane, apparently, but she never went by that any more) to be there too, it had been nice to have someone who could offer her more information about why Will was there.

They’d stood around in the living/dining room. The illustrator and the journalist had on the sofa, the vampire’s arm around her shoulder and her hand playing with a lock of Laura’s hair while Laura had flung her arms around her soulmate’s waist; Jackson had relaxed into one of the ensuite chairs, while Danny hovered over him, her face completely the opposite of Jackson’s in that it had still been taut with stress. SJ had been sitting comfortably on the other ensuite chair, a small smile still pervading despite the concern showing on the rest of her face.

“What do we do now?” had been Laura’s first question once all the greetings and pleasant small talk had stopped. “How do we – what do we do?”

Everyone had been quiet, pensive.

“Well, we know we’re not safe,” Danny had started.

Carmilla replied almost immediately, “How long did it take you to get to that conclusion, Clifford?”

Danny had just glared at her. “Anyway. We know we aren’t safe. We know they know about other people involved. Will knows about Laura, but… that was bound to happen. He knows about her dad.”

“And LaF, he was talking to them about the commission,” Laura had rushed. “And that puts Perry in danger too. Wherever they go, she goes.”

“So that’s four humans he can get to. Four casualties that could start the war.”

“And you’re in danger,” Laura had persisted. “You three, too. And your whole family.”

“That’s kind of our job, though,” Jackson had replied, an easy smile on his lips.

Laura had only started to pay attention to him then; she’d been so wrapped up in her own panicked thoughts. He was definitely a Lawrence – his ginger hair and stubble made him recognisable for that a mile off – but he was different to Danny in that he cared less about werewolf politics. He was there to have fun, and not to get bogged down in the things that didn’t interest him. He was fiercely loyal, which was something he did have in common with his sister (with all of the Lawrences). And that worried Laura a little bit; he was only 17, he was younger than Michael. If he got killed in this… she didn’t want to think about that.

“No, not to be in danger,” Danny had corrected him, giving him a quick frown. “We try to _stop_ danger. And we’ll do it in any way we can, so people don’t get hurt.”

The only vampire in the room had sighed at that. “Your heroic notions are admirable, wolves, but talking isn’t the same as doing. Unless you can come up with something other than a plan to remove any humans from the equation, I’m not going to take it seriously.” She glanced at Laura and added, “Some of us here don’t have martyrdom as the reason for protecting others.”

“What about a safe house?” SJ had piped up suddenly in a bright voice. “If anyone has spare property that others don’t know of, then we can use that, can’t we? I mean, if they’re okay with that. Wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

It was a good idea. A safe house meant protection, a safe house meant privacy. “We could all board together for a bit, just until… we get to the bottom of this. We could continue the research, we could continue our jobs, we just – we won’t be in the same place that the others expect us to be,” Laura had elaborated on the idea. “And not _us,_ Mike and Kirsch and LaF and Perry would be there too. What do you guys think?”

Nods and other gesture of approval meant that it had been taken on board, and that had made SJ’s smile a bit lighter.

“But… will your dad be there? Right where we’re _planning?_ ” Carmilla had contested.

“He could go on holiday somewhere.” Laura had frowned at Danny, confused, before she’d realised that the werewolf had wanted Laura to persuade him. “You could say he deserves a break, especially after the break-in. You’re good with your dad, aren’t you? I’ve seen him bend to your will before.”

They’d cracked a smile at that, a sad one. Remembering somewhat simpler times. “Yeah, I suppose that could be done. Thanks, Danny.”

“It’s a pleasure, Hollis.”

“I could get a safe house.” The vampire had stopped playing with the journalist’s hair now; she’d receded into herself and her voice had sounded meek when she’d uttered those words. “I’ve got another place. It’s still in Silas, but it’s… safe.”

Her soulmate had given her a kiss on the cheek for that – she’d been so thrilled that Carmilla had actually helped the situation instead of complaining about getting involved. Carm’s lips had tugged up at the corners marginally in response.

Looking back on it, Laura could see how strange the conversation had been. Three werewolves, a vampire and a human, conspiring against a seemingly unstoppable evil vampire clan, talking about things that really shouldn’t have got normalised but had. When she’d been growing up, she’d never imagined that her life could get that crazy – its limitations had been at what she’d do with her soulmate and with her journalism. (So, yeah, technically this was with her soulmate, but back then it had never involved _vampires_ or anything like that.)

“Laura, honey? You kind of zoned out there,” her dad smiled, pulling her back to the present. “You missed by speech about keeping you and Carmilla safe.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she laughed, finally taking a sip of her hot chocolate. It was still piping hot, but just drinkable. She let the warmth run through her before she asked, “Hey, Dad, can I suggest something?”

By this point, her father had started making himself a cup of coffee and had picked up his copy of _The Styria Herald_. (Laura was inwardly bursting with pride to see that one of Kirsch’s articles was featured on the front page.) “Fire away,” was his affirmation while he scanned the news stories.

“What about going on a holiday?” she blurted. At the sight of his raised eyebrows, she rushed, “No, Dad, hear me out. You’ve been working so hard lately, you’ve been doing more than you need to with the electrician business. And the – the break-in will have set you on edge. So a holiday will do you good, Dad. I promise.”

“Laura, I don’t know—”

“When was the last time you went abroad?” she ploughed on. “Like, when did you last go to Europe? You’ve always you love Europe. You love the different cultures.”

“It – it’s been a while,” he conceded, still not wanting to give in but starting to anyway.

“And you never did go to Paris, did you? Although, that was my fault actually,” she winced. Damn college for being so costly.

“Hey. Your education meant more to me than a trip to a European city,” he scolded her lightly.

“So now’s your chance! Can you imagine going there? Being able to speak French again? You’d love it, Dad, I know you would.”

She felt her cheeks burn when he eyed her suspiciously (but playfully). “What’s your reasoning behind this? Are you doing something dangerous you’re not telling me?”

Oh, God. “ _No_ ,” she laughed, moving to wrap an arm around him. “I just want you to... treat yourself. You haven’t travelled since Mom died, and you deserve a little bit of time to enjoy yourself, you know? And I promise I’ll be safe, Dad. You know me, always careful.”

“Always adventurous,” he corrected her, giving her a quick squeeze before moving to deal with the kettle. “Fine, I’ll – I’ll look into it. You have your wish.”

Laura squealed with delight. “Awesome! You’re gonna love it, Dad.”

* * *

 

What was death?

Carmilla had had a very personal experience with death. She’d been forced to come to terms with it over her centuries of her new existence. However, that didn’t grant her immeasurable knowledge on the subject. And now, what with Will being staked, she was perplexed once again with those questions that had haunted her in her first century of being a vampire.

What was death?

What was Will going to be now? What was going to become of his body? Would it be left to rot, or would its previous vampiric constitution prevent it from doing so? What would happen to _him_ , the person who had previously inhabited said body? If vampires could host dead bodies, their consciousness brought back from oblivion, would Will still be around somewhere? Or would he just linger in the minds of those who knew him, like the memory of an awful taste burnt into the brain?

Vampire death was something Carmilla was not used to. She’d fought off vampires before, of course, but for the most part she hadn’t really known who they were. She’d therefore given it little thought. The questions she asked when she drained human bodies of their blood were expected, answered, forgotten. Vampires were something else.

The idea of souls – that was something for Mircalla Karnstein, the countess she refused to be. But it still intrigued her; if she were soulless (a quite apt concept, were it not for her tendency to dote on the tiny gay journalist), then Will’s battered consciousness would have nowhere to go, nothing to hold onto. It would sink into oblivion like any human consciousness, free at last from confinement. If souls didn’t exist, then he could still be out there, somewhere, manifesting in something else. Perhaps.

She was surprised at by how deep she was thinking about this. She cared not for Will, or for his actions in general (when they affected Laura, it was a different matter altogether). So why was she thinking about him now he had been staked?

In truth, she wasn’t thinking so much about Will’s death than Will’s existence. He had been a nuisance, a Momma’s Boy through and through. He’d delighted in the show of ridiculing Carmilla’s drawings; he’d taken great pleasure in concocting various comebacks and malicious comments to target her with. They hadn’t done any damage, of course – his teasing was rudimentary, his attempts to destroy her art ineffective. Besides, it had been entertaining to see him getting enraged at how little she cared about his words. It had been amusing to see him narrow his eyes whenever she teased him for desperately trying to please Mother.

Carmilla wondered what he was like before he was a vampire.

She’d never paid attention to him when he was enrolled, only when she was forced to spend time with him. And even then, he’d lapped up the teachings from Mother – so much so she doubted he’d been like that beforehand. Confidence may have come naturally to him, but not heightened arrogance, not like he was as a vampire. He must have been different, so different that his family wouldn’t have been able to recognise should he have visited them before his second death.

She was almost sorry that the original version of Will Luce had been snatched away from him.

And maybe, that was why she was thinking of him. Sitting here, on her sofa, watching an episode of the series Laura liked (though she’d have to be killed again before she would admit to doing this), her focus completely on her own thoughts. On Will. Maybe she was mourning who he had been. Maybe she was marginally disappointed that the original Will Luce had never really got to have his chance at life. She knew how it felt; she wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

And yet all of those vampires who had become arrogant, stunted in their feelings, just like Will had, were who she was effectively up against. Now she’d refused to come back, and had allied herself with the wolves, they saw her as a target. Like the dogs chase a fox.

What had she got herself into?

She was interrupted in her thoughts by a bleeping beside her. Her cell phone, of course. Sighing deeply, she plucked the remote from the sofa arm and paused the show before unlocking it and seeing who was texting her.

Ugh. Clifford. Why was _she_ texting her, of all people? She’d wanted it to be Laura.

_Tall Annoying Ginger (19:21): Carmilla please can you get Michael to go in front of the Committee to produce evidence? You don’t have to go yourself._

Of course, the business with the werewolves. What else? It was the only reason why she’d even got the mudpaw’s phone number in the first place.

_Uncooperative Karnstein (19:22): Why would I want to do that?_

_Tall Annoying Ginger (19:24): Because otherwise the Committee won’t accept help from him or you. They need an actual confession. They don’t believe me. I’m not on good terms with them._

_Uncooperative Karnstein (19:27): Whatever did you do to fuck up that badly, Clifford? Ah, yes, your attempt to reach for the stars. It’s their loss if they can’t accept it._

_Tall Annoying Ginger (19:28): Low blow, Heart Eyes Karnstein. We need this. They’re in a panic about what to do and how to proceed. They only accept the facts that they’ve found themselves – that the_ Lophiiformes _clan are big, dangerous, and are coming for us werewolves. Michael’s confession could change things._

_Tall Annoying Ginger (19:30): And I don’t want to go there again, I’ve already been today. And it’s made me not want to go back there for a good while because I never get anything done there. They postponed my competition idea and my argument with my dad REALLY hasn’t helped things._

Trust Clifford the Big Red Dog to complicate things.

_Uncooperative Karnstein (19:31): Sorry, I fell asleep. What were you saying?_

_Tall Annoying Ginger (19:31): Just get him there. I’ll tell you where it is once he agrees. I know he’d rather have Kirsch or Laura there but Laura shouldn’t know and I think it’s a bit too early for Kirsch to get involved in werewolf issues at this moment._

Carmilla looked up at the ceiling, gritting her teeth. She’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. She wanted as little involvement in their affairs as possible, what with already being hunted by the clan. And yet, now she was to play chaperone for a dimwit vampire. Wonderful.

Unfortunately, the alternative options had disappeared.

_Uncooperative Karnstein (19:32): Fine. I’ll get Laura to persuade him._

The vampire’s phone almost came alive in her hands after that; it beeped with a reply from Danny, but she couldn’t look at it because Laura was ringing her. She was only eager to listen to her soulmate’s voice again.

There really was no competition between Danny and Laura.

“Hey, cupcake,” came her standard reply, her tone brightening instantly.

It dropped as soon as she heard Laura’s frantic sniffling. “Ca-arm, can you come and f-fetch me please? I’m out-outside the _Cartinell’s Bakery_. Something terrible happened and-and I need you.”

Carmilla was shot out of her seat immediately. She didn’t take a single moment to turn off her TV (or deliberate on the pleas of, “Perry, you’re not your parents!” coming from downstairs) as she sped out of her apartment, found her car, and kicked it into life, instructing Laura to take her through what had happened.

* * *

 

Jackson really hated the _Lophiiformes_ clan right now.  They’d sent his family into overdrive – not being able to work, to study, to enjoy life, not with the threat of a war to end all supernatural wars. They’d stopped him from being able to concentrate on his work in the garage (and that really did suck, he loved it there).

And they’d killed SJ. For God’s sake, they’d killed his sister.

(Adopted sister. Whatever. Different parents aside, she was still a werewolf and she’d been a Lawrence ever since she’d stepped foot inside this house.)

He was filled with an unstoppable anger as he deliberated on it. How _dare_ she do that? How dare she toss a life side like it was nothing, and then disappear so she couldn’t own up to what she’d done? She’d been preserving her own existence while doing that, but still. She was a coward. A terrifying coward, but he still hated her. So much.

They couldn’t take away his family. They just couldn’t.

He had to excuse himself from the living room with the excuse of making coffees, so he could control himself.

It felt wrong, all of it felt so wrong. Even being here, in the Lawrence house, with the knowledge that SJ was never gonna come back – it was all just wrong. Jackson wanted to correct it (if he could with his two bare hands, he would), but bringing someone back from the dead was a no-no. Vampires tended to become vampires from being there in the wrong place at the wrong time, and usually no one wished that on anyone. And with SJ being – having been a werewolf, the outcome of it would be unpredictable.

He hated speaking about SJ in the past tense. She _had been_ , not she _was_. It messed with his head and made him feel sick.

He needed to make coffee. He didn’t want Danny in here looking worried for him.

She wasn’t taking it well, either. And, Jackson thought, as he turned on the coffee machine, seeing Carmilla and Laura being so close wouldn’t help either. Maybe he should return quickly in there, so he could give her someone to comfort.

When he returned, in a slightly better state than before, the soulmates were huddled close to the fire, on the loveseat opposite Danny. Danny was leaning over the back of the worn sofa, patiently asking Laura what had happened. Laura was staring at the ground, still shaking, and Carmilla was doing everything she could to offer comfort in the form of physical contact. That was sweet. The vampire’s smell wasn’t, though. (It was such a juxtaposition, taking in her scent when he was surrounded by the homely, rustic scent of the house. That was messing with his head, too.)

He gave them all their cups of coffee, and he collapsed onto the sofa, spreading his long, gangly body over the cushions. The image of seeing SJ lying dead on the street corner was still fresh in his mind. It was all he could’ve done to steer the vampire and the human away from that and take them to the only place he knew that really was safe – his home. He’d promised them warmth and blankets and a small escape while Danny sorted her body out.

Carmilla had drove them to his house, with his instructions. She’d driven all the way with only one hand; the other had been held in a vice-like grip by her soulmate.

He had ten years left on his arm. Ten long years. He was getting quite jealous of everyone around him who’d found their own. (Even Lily, the youngest after him, had found one of her three soulmates. _Lucky Danbeschützer_ , he thought to himself.)

Laura’s trembling voice brought him back to reality.

“I was… I was walking from work. I’d stayed late because I’d nearly done with this article, and… I wanted a quick snack from the bakery next door. It was cold and dark and I just wanted to get in, get out and go home. And talk to Carm. Anyway, I’d just reached the bakery when I saw someone in front of me. I – I felt the blood drain from my face and I just immediately felt frozen inside. Just by being in front of her. It was… awful. She was awful, your Mother was just horrifying. And then she smiled at me through the dark and said, “Ms Hollis. What a pleasure to see you.” I was stock still, because how could I run? She’d catch me in a second and punish me.  I – I didn’t reply, I couldn’t, because she closed the distance between us and whirled around me like she was inspecting me. Her voice was dripping with honey, but it was poisonous and I couldn’t stop myself from shuddering when she c-caressed my cheek.”

Carmilla immediately tensed next to her, but Laura’s hand moved under the blanket she was in and rested on the vampire’s thigh. She immediately softened.

“That’s all she did, Carm, I promise. I asked why she was here, and she said she specifically wanted to talk to me, because I was becoming a bit of an irritation to the business she was involved in. Her smile dropped then, and her eyes were like pure ice. She was so intimidating, I felt so small. So human. She – she warned me to stay away from meddling in current affairs far larger than myself, and that it could lead to broken hearts and snapped bones. She said, “I know you humans are dedicated to your own personal moral compasses, but I assure you, sweetheart, that I will shed no tears when breaking human bones.” She said it’d be different for you, Carmilla, because she’s still so fond of you. She’d hate it if she had to punish you again. And she said how you could be forgiven if you went back.”

Jackson felt like he was going to vomit. The coffee he’d made for himself was too strong, as well, so that didn’t help either. He sat up on the sofa and planted both feet against the floor, feeling the rug beneath his toes. Closing his eyes and taking in a lungful of the homely scent often helped the feeling to pass, so he did just that. Luckily, the two lovers didn’t notice him. Danny did; she placed an affectionate hand on his shoulder and rubbed it.

He was so glad Danny was around. He’d kicked up a storm when their family had shamed her wanting to be a professional athlete, like Lily had. He wasn’t as close to Danny as she was to Lily, and Danny and Jackson didn’t talk quite as frequently as she did with Lily, but he always appreciated her company. Even when she was telling him off and calling him Omega (he preferred _Alpha_ , thanks) for being such a goofball.

The journalist wiped a new tear away and took a deep breath before continuing, “She was saying how soulmates didn’t matter, anyway. She said that you’ll leave me eventually, you’ll forget about me. She said that the clan was everything, that I was nothing.”

“She’s wrong, Laura,” Carmilla insisted, one hand cradling Laura’s face. “I won’t you leave you, ever. I won’t forget you. I see you.”

“I see you too,” Laura murmured, eyes locked on Carmilla’s. She rested her head against her soulmate’s before picking it up and blurting, “I told her she was lying. She just laughed in my face. But she’s wrong, I know she’s wrong. Because you’re here.”

“You can’t get rid of me, creampuff.”

“I never want to.”

Jackson used his free hand to hold Danny’s hand for a bit.

“She was calling me a fool for believing so hard in something so ridiculous, and she was getting closer and closer to me. I was backing up against the wall when – there was a flash of brown. Then she was gone. She was – was wrestling something. There were some… horrible sounds, like rock scraping against rock, and flesh being cut open. But it didn’t last long. Before I could really comprehend what was going on, your Mother had gone - in - in a cloud of darkness - and all that was left… was SJ’s body. Just lying there, her wolf form lying there with glassy eyes and a slit neck. There were scratches all over her body and – I couldn’t take it. I didn’t scream, I couldn’t scream, I just burst into tears and crouched down to say sorry to SJ over and over again. And then I called Carmilla, and… then you comforted me and then Jackson came. And then Danny.”

Jackson nodded. After that, while Jackson had been taking the quivering girl and the calm vampire to his home, Danny had dealt with SJ’s body. She’d put it in the Silas morgue; neither of them could bear the thought of burying SJ without a proper ceremony. They’d be shamed if they did that.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. They weren’t supposed to be huddled in the Lawrence household, staring solemnly at the fire while trying to make sense of the unjust death. This was never meant to happen.

They had to stop this. They had to stop this now. And they needed to be safe.

Danny seemed to be thinking the exact same thing as him. When their eyes connected, there was a flash of understanding in her eyes; they were on the same wavelength.

“We need to find this safe house,” his sister announced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular updates every Tuesday and Saturday!
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	16. The Few, the Proud and the Emotional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When vampires threatened to go to war, it was hard for Carmilla to keep her two lives separate. That didn't mean she was okay with Danny and Kirsch spilling each other's blood all over the carpet, however.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've forgotten what it's like to not be working. Ah. These are the joys of A-Level induction work. New chapter tomorrow!
> 
> Chapter title taken from Fairly Local // Twenty-One Pilots.

LaF liked cooking. They were pretty good with concoctions, measuring the perfect amounts of ingredients to create the perfect reaction. They enjoyed the experimentation they could do, and the basics they could follow that gave them a certain outcome of delectable happiness. They could follow a formula to get the best product, or make it up as they went along to produce something new and exciting.

Cooking didn’t end in volatile chemicals or unanswered questions. (Seriously, that was the worst part for LaFontaine; they loved their biology experiments the most but they tended to create more questions than answer them.) The worst that happened was a thick smell of burning and an emergency takeout meal. LaFontaine knew Perry preferred them cooking as opposed to them experimenting, and it wasn’t just because they had a natural talent for it. But Perry would never think to take LaF’s first love away from them.

LaF’s first love was actually Perry, now they thought about it. Perry had been there before they’d really figured out how cool science was. They’d known how cool Perry was ever since they’d befriended her.

Keys jangling in the doorway meant their wife was home. A smile instantly spread across their lips and they shouted a greeting as they placed the chopped vegetables into the frying pan. The vegetables hissed when they came into contact with the oil.

“Hello, darling,” a worn out Perry returned the greeting, chucking her work case onto the table in the dining room and giving them a squeeze on their arm. “What are you cooking?”

“Chicken stir fry,” LaFontaine replied, sorely aware of the lack of the usual kiss on the cheek. “One of your favourites.”

“Thank you,” the editor smiled, finally giving her partner a kiss. There it was. They felt better now. “Goodness, LaFontaine, I’m really feeling the effects of not having Laura and Kirsch about. I didn’t realise how lazy the other journalists were.”

The illustrator agent chuckled, thinking back to Laura’s fervour when working. “Yeah, Laura always acts like she’s on a mission. And Kirsch is so dedicated, even when he can’t work it out.”

“Which means we’re really missing their input now they’re… occupied,” Perry agreed with them, taking off their work jacket and leaning back on the table. (LaFontaine caught the sight of Perry leaning back like that as they moved to check on the chicken strips; their smile became a bit wider after that, and a bit crooked.) Perry paused before noting, “Well, Laura being occupied in _two_ respects. Kirsch is still maintaining a good level, however.”

“It kinda sucks, doesn’t it? With the clan, and all that.”

“Yes, you could put it that way,” their wife hummed. “And it means _we’re_ in danger too.”

LaFontaine shrugged as they jostled the vegetables in the frying plan a bit. “Nothing we can’t handle, Perr. Seriously, we’ve got a good team.”

“We have two journalists, two misfit vampires, an editor and an illustrator agent. I doubt we can go up against a pack of vampires, even if we have… werewolves behind us.”

“We’ll find a way,” was all LaF said. Before they could elaborate or hear Perry continue her argument, the doorbell chimed.

Perry was up in an instant. “Whoever could that be?” she muttered under her breath, her face giving it all with her frown.

The agent decided not to pay any attention. They added some more seasoning to the concoction.

“Hey, Perry!” came Laura’s eager voice, and LaFontaine’s smile came back again. It was always nice to see tiny journalist. At the sound and smell of dinner being made, Laura rushed, “Oh, sorry, you’re busy, aren’t you? I can come back when you’ve finished your dinner, it’s okay—”

“No, no, no, no, Laura, it’s fine!” Perry insisted. “Come in, come in! LaFontaine had just started anyway.”

“Thank you, Perry,” came the grateful reply.

“It’s nothing,” came their wife’s assurance. As they walked side-by-side into the kitchen, Perry questioned, “So what caused you to pop in? This isn’t a usual occurrence.”

“Oh, I needed to ask you a question,” Laura offered as an explanation. It wasn’t much of an explanation, but it would have to do. “Hi, LaF!”

LaFontaine turned around, grinning. “Hey, L, nice to see you! How are you?” With a big grin, they asked, “How’s Carmilla?”

The red blush that spread across the journalist’s face was amusing to watch. “Uh, good! We’re both good. Yeah.”

LaF gave her a faux-innocent, pleasant response and returned to the cooking. Yeah, LaFontaine bet they were.

With the momentary lapse in seriousness over, Perry resumed amiably interrogating her employee. “So, Laura, what did you want to ask us? We’d be happy to help you with anything.”

The agent could hear her shuffle nervously even from the stove. “It’s, um… it’s a big ask. And I don’t like asking you big things because you’re my boss and you’re both my friends and—”

“It’s okay,” Perry reassured her, a tight-lipped smile on her face. That always happened whenever she wanted anyone to get to the point. “Just ask us.”

Laura nodded and took a deep breath, her hands wrapping around each other. “Okay, so, you know how the _Lophiiformes_ clan are kind of a danger to us? Yeah, um… they’re closer. We’re kind of… not safe anymore. All of us, not just Carm and D—the werewolves. Because we know Carmilla, we’re – we’re targets. They went for my dad.” LaFontaine turned in time just to see the look of pure pain flash across the journalist’s face, but she put on a brave face again. “And – the leader of the clan, I – I met her last night. That was fun.” Laura laughed nervously.

Crap, this really was getting serious, wasn’t it? The agent wondered if Laura had managed to sleep well last night after those two instances. “I’m assuming this is going somewhere, isn’t it?” LaF asked, facing their friend fully for the first time. The food didn’t need constant attention now. And they knew what she was trying to imply – they and Perr were in danger too. And that something needed to happen.

“Carmilla’s got a safe house,” Laura blurted out suddenly. She counted a few seconds before talking again. “Well, she’s going to have one. Danny, Kirsch, Michael, Jackson – oh, that’s Danny’s brother – Carm and I are going to be living there for a while. We’ll be tucked away there, so the clan can’t get us. Carmilla is actually on board with this idea, and she seems to think that even you guys aren’t safe either. So… would that be okay? It wouldn’t be for long, I promise, just until the clan go away.”

The editor was suddenly fixing her employee with an intense stare. “And how long is that going to be? Are we going to have – do we have to stop going to our jobs as well? Are we going to go outside? I don’t like this idea, Laura. Some of us – some of us have a reputation to uphold.”

LaFontaine noticed their wife getting even more worked up, and reached over to place a hand on her shoulder. “Perr, it’s fine. Let’s just calm down a second.”

“We’re not stopping you from going to work, Perry,” their friend insisted, cowering slightly. “You know that’s an insane thing to do. We’re just… lying low for a bit. Trying not to get hurt. Not after…”

“Laura?” LaF pushed gently, alarmed by the sight of the journalist’s lower lip trembling.

“We’ve already had one death happen because of the clan and we need to stay out of the way in case it happens again. Or, you know, to prevent it from being us.”

“Someone _died?_ ” the editor gasped, mirroring LaFontaine’s own thoughts.

“SJ, a werewolf. She… she saved me from Carmilla’s mother,” Laura informed them glumly. She blinked a few times before adding, “So that’s how dangerous this is. And I… I couldn’t bear it if you two were caught in the crossfire.”

The agent’s mind had been made up ever since the tiny journalist had suggested it, really, but they’d held back because they weren’t sure how their wife would react. Now, there was no point in having any reservations. “I’m in,” they announced boldly, and they saw two things at once – Perry’s distraught but shocked expression, and Laura’s hopeful beam. Turning to Perry, they explained, “We don’t really have a choice, Perr. We could get hurt. Like, real bad. And they’re our friends, so it’ll be like a sleepover. A really long sleepover, but… anyway, I’m totally in.”

“Awesome! Thank you, LaF,” their friend responded earnestly. Honestly, who couldn’t be won over by her innocent eyes and big smile?

“But what about our lives? Our jobs?” the editor challenged.

LaF looked at them again and knew they were going to have to make up for this soon. “We have the internet,” they shrugged. A thought popped into their head and turned to Laura again. “Hey, I could help with my science and stuff! If I knew more about vampire biology, then I could create, like, a substance that neutralises their vampire effects. Or could intensify whatever the werewolves have that works so well…” They were off in their own world again, formulating plans immediately.

“I think we need to go to the Library again,” Laura winced – and LaFontaine, back in the real world at the sound of their friend’s voice, simply nodded. It really wasn’t their favourite place in the world, but it would have to do.

“Are you sure?” the curly-haired ginger beside them wondered. She appeared to have calmed down now.

“Absolutely, Perr,” LaF replied instantly, locking their eyes onto their wife’s. It always worked; Perry couldn’t find it in her to move away. LaFontaine used this to their advantage. “Laura wouldn’t be asking us if we weren’t in real danger.”

Perry stood up, a sigh falling out of her at the same time. At that moment, LaF realised that they were still technically cooking, so they shuffled back to the stove. Nothing had burnt. Good. Laura seemed to stop being so tense then, too.

After ten seconds of silence, Perry questioned, “When do you propose for us to move in?”

* * *

 

Carmilla already had the safe house. She’d bought it when she’d got here last year, when she found out whom it had originally belonged to. The other buyers were aristocrats, not interested in the history behind the house. Carmilla was, of course she was. She’d spend the time surveying the house with the seller just gliding her fingers across the newly uncovered furniture, small glimpses of sight coming back to her as her brain struggled to unearth such old, precious memories.

She’d remembered them, though. Her family and she would sometimes come here, in the summer, when the sun was shining and it wasn’t quite as cold. She remembered running through these rooms, naked feet pushing against the cold marble floors and giggling at the deep German rumbling from behind her, telling her to be careful. She remembered climbing up onto the wonderfully decorated chairs, trying to get her uncle’s attention. She remembered being picked up by him and smiling at the pleasant lilt in her voice. She didn’t understand much of the language being passed around back then; it seemed as if it was a different language entirely, what he spoke of. Specialist terms and words she could never hope to decipher. As he held her in his arms, she squirmed around, making him laugh and talk softly to her.

She missed her uncle. She missed her aunt and her cousins. She missed her family.

She’d _always_ missed them. Ever since the night of her unnecessary resurrection, she’d missed them intensely. She’d never admit it, of course, but she missed having their comfort. She could not remember them well, could not remember their faces, but sometimes memories like that would resurface after centuries of being locked away with seemingly unbreakable chains – and it would come back again, all of that hurt and longing.

No matter how far she’d tried to push them to the recesses of her mind, they’d always stayed. No matter how much she’d wanted to distance herself from the Countess Mircalla Karnstein – who she had been before her death – she still survived in who Carmilla was, in the little moments of naivety and worry she still held.

She bought the house for Mircalla Karnstein. She bought the house for the pride she still held for her family.

She never thought she’d use it after a complication with her new life. She’d tried to keep the two apart as much as she could – this was sacred ground for her. And yet…

She’d come back to prepare it. She’d come back to combine those realities once more. And she hated the idea of it (here she was, ripping through the boundaries she’d set to keep these two contradictory parts of her separate), but she couldn’t see an alternative to escape from the mess they found themselves in. She couldn’t imagine doing this for anyone else, either. She’d only tolerated the motley crew of morons Laura had assembled because _Laura_ was there. (And her soulmate loved those idiots with the biggest heart Carmilla had ever had the pleasure of coming across.) The tiny gay journalist was often a deciding factor for her actions now.

 _Her_ journalist, in fact. They’d whispered the words to each other one night – unintentionally on Laura’s part, at first. When she’d first uttered the word “girlfriend”, her eyes had gone wide and her mouth had stumbled over itself in an attempt to backtrack on her words and stress that, actually, Carmilla could label this as whatever, Laura had plenty of time and she was perfectly fine with waiting before the vampire wanted to make anything official—

Carmilla had reached over and kissed her, then, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Laura’s squeak broadened it; despite her grin, she’d assured her soulmate that she loved the idea of being Laura’s girlfriend. And it had been true; she’d been flattered by the fact that the journalist was already comfortable with the idea of it – so much so that it had slipped out of her mouth before she’d even realised what she’d said. There was something about it that lifted Carmilla’s heart so. It spread through her with as much ferocity as the sea; it leaked into her facial expressions and her everyday actions.

In some ways, the illustrator was lighter, thanks to Laura. She was irrevocably in love, something she had no hope in changing – nor any desire to change, for that matter. But in some ways, she was heavier. She held a responsibility now, a responsibility to hold on to Laura as tight as she could, lest the worlds they inhabited tore them apart. She held a responsibility to help guide them through this problem they faced, to get them through this alive. The both of them, she imagined, would be inconsolable should they be ripped apart.

Getting over Ell, by comparison, would be a walk in the park on a pleasant summer’s day.

She took the covers off the furniture, made sure the utilities such as the electrics and the water were still working. She cleaned, wiping the dust off the ornate furniture and lavish decorations. Usually, she would abstain from doing such domestic things, but she had her family to honour.

She hoped fervently that the dimwit squad would do the same. Some of the items placed delicately in these rooms were literally priceless. (At least Mother would be aware of that; perhaps that would save them from fending off angry _Lophiiformes_ vampires in one of the living room.)

After hours of work (during which she’d had to pull together so many curtains and blinds; she’d be lucky if she didn’t break out in a rash after being exposed to all of that sunlight), she collapsed on the lounger in one of the reception rooms, exhausted. She’d passed up the opportunity to sleep while doing this, and her skin still felt aggravated from all that sunlight. Grogginess didn’t begin to describe how she felt. Because of this, she allowed herself to relax, feeling the leather support her back. Sleep danced behind her eyes, and before it swallowed her up completely, a new memory resurfaced.

She’d been older, perhaps 16. Adorned in a dress she’d been enamoured with, she’d sat patiently while her elders chatted, twirling the exquisite material in her fingers. It had been a tense conversation, and she’d understood the German perfectly. She had been in one of the reception rooms, while the adults (she failed to remember _who_ , exactly, had accompanied her) had uttered their concerns. It had been, she remembered, a conversation primarily focused on Mircalla’s numbers. They’d never settled, never had settled for all of her life, and this had perplexed her family to the point of taking her to one of the mysterious men in the province who could decipher the meaning of its restlessness. Mircalla had wished that they would just leave her alone about this; it had been disheartening, the fact that she had had no indication as to whether she would even _meet_ a soulmate, but hearing her family discuss it had made her feel uncomfortable. She’d wanted nothing more than to disappear into the library, to lose herself in the books that had decorated every wall from the floor to the ceiling.

Two years later, her numbers had finally stopped flickering so haphazardly. Mother – not her real mother, the vampire who had claimed her after that wretched night – had explained to her that those who were destined to die before they met their soulmate never had “settled” numbers during their lifetime. As such, only the supernatural would experience this. Carmilla had essentially been born to die.

What a joyous thought that was.

Of course, she’d been dismayed to find out that she’d have to wait 316 years just to meet her soulmate, but she’d dealt with that the best she could. And meeting Laura had turned her world upside down, like she’d been told it would. Carmilla was different now. She was still the monster she’d always been at heart, but it didn’t hurt so much to be the monster.

After 18 years of frustrating deliberation, and 316 years of painstakingly slow ticking, the numbers on her arm had now disappeared. Forever.

She’d been taken from her comfortable life, then forced to believe this new life with the clan was her new home. Once she’d realised, she’d run from that too. She was tired of running, now. She was _exhausted_ by it. Naturally, it was much easier to say such things once she’d found her true home – but that realisation had taken for 334 years. She deserved to enjoy the way that sounded as it rolled off the tongue, did she not?

Home. Laura. Laura was home. Every inch of the delicious, awkward journalist felt like sanctuary. Even the strong undercurrents that threatened to drown them; she would take them, she would take all of it, for that soaring feeling felt in the blissful haze of the morning and in the way her soulmate nestled her head into the crook of the vampire’s neck.

That was the last thing on her mind as sleep consumed her.

The next day was – fortunately – overcast and bitterly cold, the snow still laced on the ground. She was thankful for this, of course, but still frowned when Laura shivered beneath what easily could have been seven layers of clothes and a scarf and hat ensemble on top. Her hands were wrapped up in mittens; one was entwined with the vampire’s, while another was holding the umbrella over their heads to provide some shade. (It was necessary even in this half-light.)

Her soulmate looked adorable like this. Carmilla never called _anyone_ adorable, end of question, so the fact that she had merely _thought_ about it in accordance to Laura showed just how much her girlfriend had changed her.

“Are you cold?” she murmured, one hand firmly clasped in Laura’s while the other caressed the journalist’s cheek. Even the skin on her face was freezing and rough; it was usually the softest surface Carmilla had ever been fortunate to lay her fingers on, the heat burning through the tender skin.

She’d either forgotten to look up the definition for _bias_ in the dictionary, or refused to acknowledge its existence. Still, she cared not for that. Those thoughts she would defend for all eternity.

“I-I-I’m f-fine, I pro-o-mise,” Laura chattered through her teeth. “I can w-wait. It-it’s fine. I wa-want to wait f-f-for the oth-ers, s-so I will.”

“Are you sure? Because there are plenty of fireplaces you can warm yourself up next to if you want. You’d just have to ask. And your friends are not ones for punctuality.”

Her girlfriend narrowed her eyes, but wrapped herself around the vampire anyway. In response, Carmilla placed a kiss on her soulmate’s cheek and rested her head against Laura’s.

“We-we’re earl-l-ly.”

It was so quiet, the illustrator doubted humans would have heard it. “By one minute, cupcake. Somehow, I can’t imagine the dimwit squad turning up in that time.”

“S-Shut up.”

Carmilla laughed.

Surprisingly, she was forced to eat her words when she saw the figures of Perry and LaFontaine slipping and sliding up the path, accompanied by bags. Lots of bags. And two suitcases. (LaF was hoisting the suitcases along as best as they could, while Perry was almost drowning in all of the bags she’d collected. The thought flashed through the illustrator; why hadn’t she taken a shopping cart?) Carmilla regarded them with begrudging curiosity while they made their way towards them; when they arrived, they both threw their arms around a now separated Laura. Thankfully, they refrained from doing the same thing for the illustrator. Instead, Uptight Ginger gave her a small, pleasant smile, and Persistent Ginger gave her an easy beam.

For all of her outward displeasure at their company, though, Carmilla – at least – felt more favourable towards her agent. LaFontaine was easier to deal with, despite their annoying tendency to badger her about work. She would even go as far to say she somewhat liked their company. And their wife was… tolerable, but only because LaF was so undeniably enamoured with her.

She would not have been thinking those words a year ago.

“Hey, so we got loads of food to tide us over for the time being – and some blood for you, too, Karnstein, though you’ll have to share with Michael,” LaF told them cheerily. “And we don’t know the first thing about this place, which is… huge. Seriously, how did you manage to bag this place?”

“It’s not exactly inconspicuous, is it?” Perry murmured, her eyes gazing upward at the mansion in front of the four of them.

“Did I ever do inconspicuous?” Carmilla challenged, before sighing. “I’ll show you around.”

“I-I’ll wait here f-for yo-ou,” Laura informed her.

“Nope, I’m not allowing you to get frostbite.” The vampire pulled on her girlfriend’s arm. “You can walk outside to greet them.”

She may have used a bit of her vampire strength to coax Laura to follow them inside, but she wasn’t going to admit that.

The day continued in a regular pattern after that; Carmilla reluctantly showed the motley crew of morons around the main rooms, all the while casually slipping threats into the conversation should they so much as touch the priceless décor in the house. Afterwards, she left them to their own devices, and returned to the main reception room to be with Laura before the next round of idiots came. When she’d dismissed the Bobsey Twins, the editor had stayed to unpack the food in the kitchen, while the agent had given Perry a quick kiss on her cheek and disappeared to explore the rest of the house.

Jackson arrived on his own, with one suitcase for all his belongings. After a long hug from Laura and a cheerful nod of acknowledgment in the vampire’s direction, he chatted easily to Carmilla as she took him around the main rooms. He, at least, seemed to understand the privilege he’d been given for staying in a mansion such as this. He wasn’t too bad, all things considering.

God, was she becoming… _friendly_ towards these idiots?

Michael arrived separately, also. Hood up, scowl very much at home on his face, he looked like the boy who had stood in her living/dining room that night, insisting that she went back to the clan. A greeting from Laura, however, melted his frown and suddenly he was back to his somewhat eager self. She had to deal with this while she disinterestedly showed him around. He nodded at everything she said, eyes roaming the beautifully patterned walls and floors, while he constantly hoisted up the bag on his shoulder. She preferred Jackson over him, but the journalist she loved seemed connected to him. If it wasn’t for the facts that they were both lesbians and soulmates, she’d be slightly worried.

When Carmilla let him go with a grunt, he loitered around, quite unsure what to do with himself; then he decided to go upstairs to go to the bedrooms, like Jackson had done.

Good. She wanted to be with her girlfriend. Laura seemed to be talking normally now, which was helpful. As the journalist talked to her about the surprisingly successful trip to the Library the previous night, mouth going at 100 kilometres per hour, the vampire played with the brunette’s hair, a fond smile on her face.

The last to arrive were the ex-frat boy and Clifford. By the time they’d arrived, they looked as if they’d worn each other out. Danny seemed to be planning homicide and Kirsch’s smile was a little too strained as the books from the aforementioned library excursion wobbled precariously in his arms. (Why they’d entrusted such ancient tomes with the likes of Danny and Kirsch, Carmilla would never be able to guess.) Giving Danny’s pile of belongings – including a bag filled to the brim with papers, no less – and Kirsch’s faltering smile, the illustrator chose not to escort them around the mansion. She’d do that – or let them do that themselves – when they were free of heavy belongings and weren’t about to kill each other.

That plan proved to be unsuccessful. The Jolly Ginger Giant and the one-legged puppy may have been soulmates, but they were consistent in their ability to annoy the hell out of each other. What should have been a pleasant time with Laura and the people surrounding them in the main reception turned out to be stilted conversations while Kirsch and Danny bickered furiously with one another. It had something to do with this project the mudpaw had taken up suddenly; Carmilla knew this from the image of the mass of papers sprawled at Danny’s feet and the notepad she was scribbling in. She didn’t possess the desire to find anything else out, however, and she doubted she would find it even marginally interesting if she did. As long as they didn’t break anything, she refused to pay attention to their personal interests. Besides, Diogenes was proving to be a suitable distraction.

Her girlfriend – now, that was another matter. Laura was alarmed by the intensity of which they argued, but she still made time to talk to the vampire.

“I could practically _feel_ that eye roll from over here,” the journalist commented teasingly, when Kirsch had yelped in indignation.

In truth, Carmilla had had to hold back a snort of derision at the sound. The eye roll had sufficed. “You’re not exactly far away, sundance.”

“Still,” Laura tried, shifting under the illustrator’s arm to get more comfortable.

They were both reading; Carmilla’s eyes skipped over Diogenes’ words while her soulmate furrowed her brow at some ridiculous _History of Vampire Clans_ book that was almost certainly older than Carmilla herself. If it weren’t for the endless arguing on the other side of the room, it would be almost peaceful. (The occasional whoops and chuckles from Michael and Jackson who were playing cards – ludicrous – weren’t helping, either.) “It’s not like you don’t understand my reasons.”

Her girlfriend eyed the two incriminating idiots with barely concealed frustration. “You’re right.” Then – much to the vampire’s dismay – she got up and called to the tall, annoying ones, “Alright, we – you guys need to stop. Kirsch, you can help me out with some reading.”

She turned back to the illustrator; an eyebrow raise and a frown was all that was necessary to get Laura to cave. Of course, there were real intentions behind them – she was getting used to having her girlfriend cuddling up to her.

“It won’t be for long, I promise,” the journalist grinned at her. “Besides, we have the rest of the night.” Laura pressed a soft kiss to her girlfriend’s lips and rested an arm on the leather-clad thigh before hopping off the recliner and purposely squeezing herself between the ex-frat boy and the werewolf.

That look of longing in Danny’s eyes wasn’t so evident any more. Huh. That was a small victory to extract from this situation, at least.

* * *

 

The fire burned next to the sofa Danny was curled up on, warm but still close enough to make her feel uncomfortable. Kirsch had taken the other end of the sofa, leaving her with no choice than to grit her teeth and try and focus on her competition.

But even that was difficult. _God_ , it was difficult. It was difficult because whenever she came up with a halfway decent idea, Kirsch had to dismiss it and come up with an idiotic one. He was trying, she knew, but he was way too overexcited for something that didn’t even involve him. And now it was less of a case of him trying and more of a case of him retaliating for her being so sharp with him.

His ideas were terrible, though. He should have known that.

From the offset, they’d been awful – he’d wanted to call the whole thing _Werewolf Wars_ , for a start. In the end, Danny had decided on something a little more respectable: _Die Siegreiche: Pflichtspielen für Werwölfe (The Victorious: Competitive Games for Werewolves)_. It sounded ceremonious, it sounded exciting, it sounded _inclusive_ – everyone who even entered was going to be victorious. It was an idea someone as caring as Laura would be proud of.

She was proud of it, too, and it had made her excited about the whole prospect of planning – but that had quickly dissolved into agitation when Kirsch had almost made her fall at the first hurdle. His constant questions and contradictory ideas left her exasperated; she’d almost given up entirely on getting through this tonight when Laura had sandwiched herself between the two of them and forced Kirsch to partake in some reading.

(Danny was just as surprised as Carmilla that the library excursion had gone to plan. That never happened, ever. She still hadn’t forgotten about the time she’d had to rescue Laura and LaFontaine with a fire extinguisher.)

The calm that had settled immediately when Laura had forced Kirsch to read was now really helping her to relax and concentrate. (In the back of her mind, Danny thought of an insult about her soulmate and reading, and then was shocked to find she was annoyed with herself for coming up with something so rude.) It wasn’t silent, though – the sounds of flipping pages coming from Jackson, Laura and Kirsch punctuated the quiet every so often, and Michael was being quizzed on vampire biology by LaFontaine so they could incorporate that into their experiments. Perry was away cleaning the place. Danny had seen the winces on all of the vampires and werewolves in the room earlier in the evening as the sound of arguing from the married couple had floated down to their sensitive ears. Danny was glad LaF had decided to stay away for a while.

The atmosphere was now pretty serious. Whereas before, when Michael and Jackson had been bonding over a game of cards (before Laura had marched over the room and thrown a heavy book in their general direction), it had been affected by the arguing and the card game. Now, the quiet unsettled her.

It was _depressing_ how it had come to this. They had to hide, away from normal life, away from civilisation. They had to look out for shadowy figures and shove their heads inside ridiculously old books. This “sit tight and wait it out” plan was frustrating, numbing, and Danny hated it.

She also hated how slow the Fenris and Lawrence families had been to act on this. The _Lophiiformes_ clan could be in Styria _now_ , and they’d only just collected themselves to allow Michael to confess.

That had been interesting. Michael had had to endure sly glances and disapproving whispers as he walked into the Werwolf Ausschuss für Osteuropa Headquarters, flanked by a determined Danny. (She’d disliked being in the headquarters again, but she’d girled the hell up and accompanied him.) In the main room (a court room, obviously), he’d been shaking as he addressed these important individuals, but Danny had put a steadying hand on his shoulders after she’d caught the supporting eyes of her grandparents. And what he'd said had riled up the officials considerably; immediately – even the Fenris heads – they’d called for an emergency meeting. The Head of the Fenris household, Abigail Fenris, had congratulated Michael for his bravery and his dedication to protecting innocent civilians.

“You did it, Michael,” she’d told him afterwards, glad it was all over.

“Yeah, but is it too late?” he’d asked, the worry still buried deep in his (Danny couldn’t deny it, not really) attractive features.

His words refused to budge from their place inside Danny’s head. When her father had told her that the Committee had ordered that all vampires from the _Lophiiformes_ clan to be imprisoned on sight – except for Carmilla and Michael, that was – she’d felt the first flickers of relief. They’d actually made a difference. When he’d said in the next sentence that the other families were being informed and that they were preparing for battle, relief flooded her at the same time as dread did.

It had felt real then, the whole situation; it felt real now. No one was really smiling.

Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces. Laura had her head shoved in her book, legs tapping out a rhythm on the floor. Kirsch was accompanying her, his face pulled in a deep frown. Next to him, Jackson – who had been bonding with Kirsch all day (and _of course_ that would happen) – was curled up on the floor and mouthing the words he was reading as his eyes flickered from one side of the page to the other. On the wall opposite to the fireplace, Michael was talking quietly to LaFontaine, doubt on his face while LaF’s face was glazed over slightly. Clearly, they were in their own little world as they extracted information from the vampire.

And Carmilla. She was reading, obviously. Some ginormous book on Diogenes or whoever. Danny would have thought that she’d leave the pretentious philosopher image at home. But no, apparently the illustrator actually _enjoyed_ reading the minds of men dead for thousands of years.

With a grimace, she realised that her family did the same, give or take a thousand years, with their traditional stories and books rewritten from Danjad Lawrence’s time.

“Holy crap,” Laura murmured from beside her, pulling Danny out of her own head.

“ _Dude_ ,” Kirsch gasped. (Did he ever stop with the frat boy lingo?) “We found it!”

Danny was alert in an instant. Michael and LaFontaine stopped talking. Carmilla turned her page and continued reading. (She was listening, obviously.)

“Found what?” LaFontaine wondered.

“We found some information on the _Lophiiformes_ clan,” the journalist informed the room. “It says here…: “ _Being one of the most formidable clans of the time, the_ Lophiiformes _clan were targeted by the Lawrence family especially. They were the biggest threat for East Europe, and none who had challenged them before had ever survived. Ruthless, unchanging, and unbeatable, they truly only served one purpose: to worship the supposed god after which they were named. The_ Lophiiformes _, a god said older than the dawn of time, needed devotion and a group of virgins to be fed to it every twenty years to be placated. A clan having a purpose, one main aim, was expected of vampire tradition, but a god-worshipping clan was rare and it made the clan extremely volatile in terms of alliances. However, they shared the same hatred for the werewolves, and so had to be taken out. In the Beast War, the Lawrence clan operated secretly to bring the clan to justice. They killed the_ Lophiiformes _god, and took the clan with it. However, one member survived, a kitten vampire barely introduced to the vampire world. Believing she was harmless, she was left alone, and the world was told that the_ Lophiiformes _clan had been dealt with overnight. They simply disappeared from the Earth._ ” Oh my God, we found it.”

This was news even for Danny. _They’d_ killed the god, _they’d_ set this up. She was proud, but at the same time terrified. “So… it’s a matter of revenge?” she asked, breaking the stunned silence.

Laura nodded at her, but didn’t dare say anything.

“What else would it be?” Carmilla sighed. “Clearly, Mother got pissed that her god had been killed, so she settled for all-out war on every werewolf around. That sounds like something she’d do, just to teach your family a lesson.”

“Holy crap,” Kirsch whispered again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular updates every Tuesday and Saturday!
> 
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	17. We Are the Poisoned Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dimwit Squad were surprisingly good at coming up with ways to hit back at the vampire clan. Aside from this, Laura and Kirsch were still not very good at dealing with difficult situations, but at least Danny was thawing now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's half 3 in the morning. I've been on high alert for the past three hours in case my parents decide to barge into my room and confiscate my laptop from me. But I've done it! I've written this chapter for you lovely readers to enjoy!
> 
> Chapter title taken from Centuries // Fall Out Boy.

Okay, so maybe they were staying in Carmilla’s uncle’s mansion on a terrifying vampire-fighting technicality. Maybe she was still experiencing the shock and horror of seeing someone die before her. And maybe Laura missed her tiny apartment a little bit, where she could binge-watch Doctor Who or pass through a corridor without seeing body parts she didn’t want to see (didn’t anyone ever close their doors?) – or seeing Carmilla give her the shock of her life by walking through the upstairs rooms in various states of undress too. Not that she was complaining about _that_ one, it was just that she was trying to be serious about all this, and when her girlfriend was acting like that… it was very hard to concentrate on how to stake a few vampires should she ever need to.

So, yeah, she missed some things. She also missed not worrying about stupid vampire clans and their stupid clans to kill her friend’s whole family. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a bit of fun in these four, extravagantly and beautifully decorated four walls.

The night they’d arrived at the mansion – two nights ago, now – they’d tried to discuss ways to attack the _Lophiiformes_ clan after Laura and Kirsch had found the motive behind Carmilla’s Mother’s plan. Immediately after Kirsch had whispered the profanity, they’d gone head-first into scheming, trying to find any weaknesses for the clan. The tiny gay journalist had got the revenge thing out of the way by saying that it was _crazy_ to put the Lawrence family on the front line; that would be exactly what the _Lophiiformes_ clan wanted, and by doing that they’d have to lose a fair few of their members before they got to the family they really wanted to kill. Danny and Jackson, unsurprisingly, had nodded in agreement. And Laura had been relieved that they weren’t putting themselves at the front, because she sure as hell didn’t want them to die.

With everybody agreeing (Laura, for once, felt like she’d actually contributed positively to the situation instead of getting people killed or threatened), the conversation had moved on to the clan itself. Michael had piped up then – after all, he knew more about the current plans than anyone else. He’d spoken suddenly, when people were caught up in their own heads with their thoughts.

“We’re going to be going against trained fighters,” he’d announced, flinching at the shock in everyone’s faces. “Mother, she… she’s been training them. And she’s been getting the veteran vampires to train the younger ones. But she was recruiting when I left, still, so there’ll be kitten vampires that will be easier to deal with.”

The room had been silent again as everyone digested this information.

“Then the wolves will have to train, too,” Jackson had responded with a shrug. “That won’t be hard, will it?”

“It depends on how much time we have,” Michael had frowned, his own eyes glazing over with his thoughts. “And we don’t know that, either.”

Laura had been about to suggest whether they could get the humans trained, too – though she had a little bit of an advantage, thanks to an overly protective dad and being enrolled in Krav Maga from an early age – when Carmilla had met her gaze from across the room and pouted at her, effectively shutting her up. (The vampire would swear that it was a disapproving _frown_ , not a pout – but really, her soulmate knew the difference.)

The next person to speak up had been LaFontaine, with their “I’ve just had a brilliant idea” face on. (Laura had been a bit worried at that.) “But what if we don’t need to be awesome at fighting to take them out? Like, we can get stakes, right? And that’s great and all, but we could use them in another way to really make them feel pain.”

“What are you suggesting?” Danny had frowned, confused.

“You might not like it,” they’d responded nervously.

Danny’s strict stare had kept them from muttering any more.

“Mike was just telling me that you get really wounded from ingesting werewolf blood, yeah?” LaF had explained, looking at the vampires for confirmation. Michael had nodded enthusiastically, while Carmilla had given no indication that she’d even heard the agent. “Okay, so, why don’t we put that stuff on the stakes? Like, it’ll look really gory and cool, but also if we drive them into the vampires, then they’ll hurt even more. They’ll get weak and probably die. Right?”

Laura had seen the pictures of having a stake with werewolf blood on driven through them flash through Michael’s mind; he’d cringed and shuddered. “That’s a good idea,” he’d confirmed. “I mean – you guys wouldn’t mind, would you?”

Danny and Jackson had gazed at each other, seemingly having a silent conversation. Finally, Jackson had turned away. “I’m down for that,” he’d smiled. “Just don’t cut open my arm, will you? If I get car oil or anything in there, that’s gonna hurt.”

LaFontaine gave him a beam. “I have needles; it’s okay.”

Laura had to admit, it was a pretty good idea. Danny, Perry and she could get to work on carving stakes. _This is sounding better and better already_ , she’d thought with a smile starting to show on her face. That had alarmed her girlfriend; she’d seen it flicker across the vampire’s face for a second before she’d settled on her indifferent face again.

But after that, things had got out of hand. The seriousness melted away – slowly, but surely – thanks to Kirsch and Jackson subtly (or not-so-subtly) challenging each other to suggest the most ridiculous ways to kill a vampire. Jackson had suggested that the impending fight could be a rap battle, and Kirsch had said that maybe they could work things out through a good game of rummy. That was without mentioning the choices of weapons – flying herring, laser pointers, and insect repellent were just a few examples. Danny had rolled her eyes so much at their input that she’d seriously given Carmilla a run for her money.

The conversation had ended then, and LaF and Michael went back to the card game – which Perry joined, surprisingly, even giving LaFontaine a kiss on their forehead – and Kirsch and Jackson had continued goofing around. Laura had tried to help Danny with her competition, complimenting her on her ideas and steering the werewolf away from providing only running games. She was glad Danny had found this, because she’d hated to see her friend so upset about not being achieve her dreams. And this was the perfect loophole in the set of rules that the werewolves lived by.

Carmilla, obviously, had kept on reading. She either _really_ liked that book, or didn’t care about the battle coming up. Laura had left her to her own devices.

The vampire was still reading now, though she’d joined Laura in the bedroom. The journalist was planning on getting to sleep, but it wasn’t the same without having her soulmate to cuddle up to – and what Carm do but oblige?

It was the image of a perfect domestic couple, if Carmilla sipping on a cup full of blood was ignored. And the fact that she wasn’t getting any sleep at night. (She was still in her pyjamas, though – or her version of pyjamas, anyway. How was Laura supposed to _not_ look when her girlfriend was lying next to her wearing nothing more than her a tight top and lingerie?)

It wasn’t the image of the perfect domestic couple that Laura had been expecting all her life, but she was _more_ than satisfied with it.

“You’re really excited about this, aren’t you?” Carmilla asked very casually, dispelling the image in the journalist’s mind with her voice of velvet. “The battle, I mean.”

“I’m not _excited_ ,” Laura replied, shifting in her position and pressing her face deeper into her girlfriend’s shoulder. “I’m just… I really want to get these vamps back, you know? They’ve really messed things up for all of us. I’ll be glad to get back to normality.”

“Without their existence, you wouldn’t have me,” the vampire reminded her.

“Yeah, but you’re different.”

“I wasn’t. For a long time. I enjoyed being in the clan, ever so much. Before I realised I didn’t belong. Before E—” Her girlfriend frowned suddenly, before calming herself down and trying again. “Before Ell.”

Laura tilted her head so she could see her soulmate better. “Ell?”

“The only person I ever cared about, before I met you,” the vampire admitted. All of a sudden, she looked… colder. Misery was etched into every sharp, strong feature of hers.

Laura felt no jealousy, no resentment towards this woman. As far as she knew, Ell was gone, and Carmilla was hers forever. While she was curious, she didn’t want to cause the vampire to back off. “You can tell me if you want. I don’t mind,” she informed the illustrator softly.

The vampire put her book down on the bedside table, and placed a hand on Laura’s side. Her smile was sad now, misery tugging at the corners of her lips. And then she spoke.

“It was 1872, and the Metropolitan Museum of Arts had just opened in New York – and I wanted more than anything to sail to see it. But Maman insisted that I stay. We were deep into a plot to overthrow the reigning vampire clan close to our hunting grounds; Mother’s first round of newly turned vampires after my own had stopped being shipped in and all were ready to fight. I was more experienced – I was needed. On my way to a mandatory meeting with Mother herself and her Board of Representatives, our carriage got wrecked from the conditions of the roads and Ell’s uncle offered to let me rest in their abode for the night. She was just visiting, but her uncle was sure we would be fast friends. He was not wrong, but neither he nor I could have anticipated just how much I would fall for her. Our bond was immediate – we were inseparable – and after that night I vowed never to let her go. It suited Maman fine; I was still a part of the proceedings, and I was out of harm’s way.

“It lasted for a while. I spent my days with Ell and my nights plotting alongside Mother, against vampires who I’d never really cared about in the first place. They were meant to be the enemy, but I was becoming increasingly indifferent towards such matters, especially after Ell’s arrival in my existence. Ell was my escape – my chance to be _human_ again – and this made her a threat to the clan.

“I fell deeper, blinded myself further – convinced myself that we could run away from this together. But when I went to make preparations, Mother caused disaster. I had taken great lengths to hide what I was from Ell, but Maman went to her in secret and revealed my true nature in the most horrifying light. Ell screamed that I was a monster and ran away forever. That was what I did to be entombed for what Mother believed would be the rest of my existence.” With a dark, humourless chuckle, she added, “You can imagine why I felt dissatisfied with my clan after I emerged from coffin again.”

All of the air had been knocked out of Laura’s lungs. She couldn’t believe… she couldn’t believe that Carmilla had had to go through that. That was wrong, it was _vile_. It was wrong for Ell to do that, but for Carmilla’s Mother? It was horrific. Cruel. It filled her with a fury she hadn’t anticipated.

“That’s why they need to be killed,” the journalist declared, literally shaking with anger. “You didn’t deserve that! They have to pay, they have to—”

“Laura,” her soulmate interrupted her, brown eyes shining with worry from next to her. “Laura, stop. You can’t be anywhere near this. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“But we have the werewolves behind us. We can _do_ this, we can get rid of them. We can get revenge on them for putting you in a coffin full of blood, and we – we can avenge SJ.” Laura’s bottom lip started to tremble then. The past few days, she’d been either been chatting with Carmilla, reading the books from the library, or getting lost in her own head. And the thoughts there were infused with guilt – guilt for being so unprotected the night that Carmilla’s Mother had visited, for not being able to save SJ. She felt responsibility for what had happened because of _her_ , and she couldn’t shake it off. It crept up to her and seized her by the throat in the quiet moments – and honestly? Her track record for fighting it off didn’t look pretty.

(God, she was _so_ glad her dad had flown out to Paris yesterday.)

The vampire must have read her mind – or something close – because she took her soulmate’s hand in hers and told her firmly, “It’s not your fault, cupcake. That was never your fault. Unless you’re planning to reignite a war between two supernatural forces, you can’t say any of this is your fault.”

“But she – I could’ve – and Danny and Jackson –” She couldn’t get the words out of her mouth. She couldn’t tell her girlfriend that she’d seen Danny comforting a crying Jackson earlier today, tears falling down the athlete’s face too. She couldn’t tell her girlfriend how she’d turned away and cried herself, because someone was already _dead_ and it was because she’d gone out and—

“Clifford and the puppy werewolf will be able to deal with it,” Carmilla responded, tracing the side of Laura’s hip again. “They’ve got their own family for support. And they won’t blame you for it. You’re not at fault.” The corners of her lips dipped again as she continued, “But we need to stop more deaths from happening. And by staying out of the way, you can do that.”

Laura shook her head. “I can’t do that. I can’t just stand aside and watch my friends die.”

The eyebrows of her girlfriend knitted together. “If you, or the manchild, or the Bobsey Twins, get too near a _Lophiiformes_ member and get hurt, you could start the war. Do you not understand that? Just one human could bring about the very thing that might destroy the population.”

“Of course I do, it’s just…” the brunette sighed. “How can I _not_ want to be involved? Danny and Jackson will be called in. You and Michael might be called in. I want to make sure it goes to plan.”

“It definitely won’t go to plan if you’re within ten miles of a vampire.” Seeing Laura wasn’t going to reply, Carmilla decided to change the conversation. “You need to sleep.”

Laura couldn’t really argue with that. “Mmhmm.” Her eyes were already closed.

“Just think about it, creampuff,” were the last things the journalist heard. A soft feeling of pressure on her cheek, and she was gone.

* * *

 

The mansion was _so_ cool. It was the coolest thing Kirsch had ever seen, ‘cause it had so many paintings and amazingly cosy chairs that looked like they would be really uncomfortable, and they could all be in one room and have an awesome time. And he’d hit it off with Jackson, too, so that was cool. Jackson was really chill. He’d seen him making eyes at Michael, but whatever. It wasn’t anything too big. And Kirsch wasn’t in a position to judge.

Plus, Kirsch was kinda making eyes at Jackson’s sister, too, so he _really_ wasn’t able to judge.

That was the weirdest thing, though. Danny calling him a genius (which he’d never heard being said about him, if he was honest) had started _something_ off inside of him. He wasn’t quite sure what, but all he knew that he _really_ wanted to please his soulmate.

His werewolf soulmate. That was, like, impressive. And her story? _Amazing_. That Danjad guy sounded badass.

He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Danny that her being named after Danjad suited her. It was a good choice. She might have been annoying – like, _really_ annoying – but he’d stand by that forever. Yeah.

She really was annoying. He’d just been trying to _help_ for her competition, but she’d shot down everything he’d said. That had made him upset – it had been like when they’d just met each other again – so he’d been glad when the tiny hottie had sat down between them.

And that whole “Carm-sexy’s Mom is really bad at letting grudges go” thing had been surprising. But they’d got some battle plans from it, so Kirsch felt good about that. Though it was scary how they didn’t know when the clan was going to attack. They could attack tomorrow, and all the werewolves wouldn’t know what hit them.

That was such a scary thought.

All of these things were flying through Kirsch’s mind when he got back to the safe house with Laura and Perry. He was due to have his cast off his foot in three days, but driving was still a no-no. He kinda loved being driven around, though, because it meant he could spend some quality time with his friends. (Who cared if one of his friends was his boss? Fighting a vampire clan had that effect.) And he enjoyed listening to Laura talk. She could talk for Europe.

Now, though, they were relaxing in one of the living rooms. Well, sort of. Perry had gone off to cook dinner for all the people here who weren’t vampires. Carmilla was still asleep (if she wasn’t already dead, Kirsch would say she slept like the dead), and he assumed Michael was too. But beside him, Laura was curled up on the other end of the sofa Kirsch was on, working through this article she’d had to write on a notepad. Jackson was sprawled out on the other sofa, long legs dangling off the side. (Kirsch smirked at that. Totally worthy of a photo.) LaFontaine was somewhere else in the house, probably working on their stake idea, and Danny hadn’t come back from her personal training course yet. (He was surprised she was still going to it. He knew how much she hated it.) And as for Kirsch? He found himself going through a really helpful book on how to kill vampires. He just hoped he didn’t need to use it.

It was pretty quiet for a while, except for Jackson’s snoring from the other sofa. And Kirsch could deal with that. It was helpful. The dude who wrote this book had a really fancy way of writing anyway, so he needed to concentrate.

(Was it a dude who wrote the book? He quickly checked the cover.

It was a chick. His bad.)

Michael decided to walk into the living room at this point, wearing a bathrobe and not much else. Kirsch beamed to him in greeting but Laura didn’t even notice he was there. She only looked up and greeted him when Mike sat between the two of them.

“What’re you reading, bro?” his brother asked, a mouth full of cereal. Michael always put too much in his mouth.

“How to kill a vampire,” Kirsch replied breezily, forgetting that Mike was a vampire too. When he saw the frown on the vampire’s face, he felt like he needed to add, “I’m only going to target the evil ones, don’t worry, dude.”

“I know, I know,” the younger of the two responded. He swallowed his cereal and added, “I’m thinking about going back.”

“Dude, _what?_ ” Kirsch spluttered. He hadn’t expected that – he would probably never expect that.

“Not – not to join them, not like _that_ ,” Michael rushed to clarify. “We don’t know anything about what they’re doing right now, and it would help if we got some inside information, wouldn’t it? So, I could be like a double agent! I’ll pretend to regret leaving the clan but I’ll come back to report on what’s happening.” His voice got quieter. “I’m not going to be leaving for long, bro.”

Kirsch still wasn’t happy. In fact, he was the _opposite_ of happy. He was furious. The last thing he wanted was to let his brother out of his sight. He’d already lost Mike once. He couldn’t do it again. “No.”

“Wilson, think about it,” the vampire pleaded through more cereal. He gulped it down and then continued. “This will get us the information we _need_. We can prepare the wolves in that time.”

“Yeah, but what if you get killed, or punished, Mike? Do you know how horrible it was to lose you the first time? I wouldn’t wish that on my enemies, dude. It was as painful as hell.”

“You won’t be losing me. I’ll make regular trips, I promise. You just won’t see me for a few days, that’s all. And Danny will appreciate it.”

“I’m still against it, bro. We haven’t even been able to – to show you to Jordanna and our folks yet. What if you die?”

“I _won’t_ , I swear!”

Kirsch and Mike kept arguing like that. They were both really stubborn, so they didn’t back down. And Kirsch could admit that, yeah, what Michael was saying made sense – but the idea of his dead brother returning back to the clan filled him with a blind panic and caused his heart to pound at, like, a million kilometres an hour. It just wasn’t on the table. Carmilla could go back instead.

At the sound of Danny entering the room, Kirsch jumped. Michael just looked up and nodded at her. (Kirsch really wished he could have super sensitive hearing like his bro sometimes.) Danny gave him a small wave back and hovered over Kirsch.

“What are you two talking about?” she wondered, boredom in her voice. Poor hottie. (Still a bit scary, though.)

“Didn’t you hear us?” Kirsch scowled. Of course she heard, she was a werewolf. Duh. Why was she asking?

“I’m trying to be polite, popped collar,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “So?”

“I suggested that I go back to the clan as a sort of double agent,” Michael answered, “so I could keep you guys posted on what’s happening. I think it’ll be useful. But… Wilson doesn’t want me to go.”

“What if he dies, Danny? Like, for real this time? I can’t deal with that,” Kirsch cried.

Jackson stirred from where he was sleeping and slowly opened his eyes. Whoops.

“It’s a good idea, Kirsch,” Danny responded, which was exactly what Kirsch _didn’t_ want to hear.

“Dude, I thought you were supposed to be on my side,” he pouted, “because we’re soulmates and all.”

The werewolf raised an eyebrow at him but said, “Kirsch, I understand why you don’t want him to go. I know that loss, okay? We’re all feeling it.” She glanced at Jackson, who was glaring at the ground. (Yeah, Kirsch was definitely gonna try and cheer him up as soon as he had the chance.) “But we’ve got to push that aside.”

“Push that aside? Dude, I _can’t_ lose Mike again. I won’t even be able to face Jorda—”

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Whoa, okay, was that _Danny’s_ hand on his shoulder?

Yeah, it _was_. Sweet. That _something_ in his chest expanded and constricted a bit.

“I know, Kirsch. It will be hard. But we need this. There wolves aren’t prepared, and… I don’t want any more of my family to die,” the ginger hottie confessed.

The room was quiet now. All eyes were on him. It was like when he was back in his flat, but now the people looking at him weren’t expecting him to pass out again. Their eyes were, like, hopeful.

Laura’s eyes always had hoped in them anyway. That was just who she was. But Jackson and Mike and Danny… he couldn’t let them down. Not now.

So he pushed down his panic. It was hard, but he kinda needed to do it.

“Fine,” Kirsch barked. He turned to Michael, who was still chomping on his breakfast. “But you’re not leaving, bro, okay?”

Michael shook his head with more enthusiasm than was needed, especially with his cereal shaking from it in his lap. “Never.”

Thank God it was a Friday. This vampire fighting stuff was exhausting.

* * *

 

He was all set, ready to go.

The more Michael thought about it, the more daunting the idea of returning to the clan became. He’d hated it, hated it ever since he’d been forced back to life and had his head patched up. (The scar he’d got as a result of it was pretty cool, however.) He’d forced himself to adopt the rules of the clan; he’d been terrified about what would happen to him if he left. But he _did_ leave, and nothing had happened to him so far – so that was good.

He just wasn’t sure what to expect when he got back.

He knew where they were. They’d moved closer to the Styria province, but he guessed they’d still be close to the hunting grounds. All he had to do was get in range of them, and then he’d be picked up and brought in front of the Board of Representatives (and possibly Mother herself). From there, he’d have to lie about why he’d run away. He’d put it down to a kitten’s mistake. And that had happened before; he’d seen it. She’d only got a warning for it.

He’d be fine. He was a pretty good liar, if he did say so himself. He’d been lying every day for the past two years, after all. (Except for these past few weeks. These weeks had been full of truths, full of being himself. He’d miss it.)

Now he was stood at the front door of the Karnstein mansion, calming his breathing. He was going to hate being ordered what to do by pretentious vampires, but he had to do it. This was important. He’d told himself all of this last night.

“You ready?” Danny asked as she walked up to him, all long limbs and stripy tops and worry on her youthful face. The werewolf was carrying something in her hands, and when he sniffed at the air he could smell her awful scent… and blood. Oh, she had packets of blood for him. That was nice of her.

She handed them to him, and he stuffed them in his black hoodie’s pockets. He was definitely going to need those. A vamp could only run for so long. “Yeah, I’m ready,” he told her. “And thanks.”

“Not a problem,” she responded, checking his clothing out. “Okay, even _I_ would get cold in that. How are you going to survive this?”

He shrugged. “I’m dead. I don’t exactly need inner body warmth to keep me going. I’ve got vampire abilities for that.”

“I have no idea how Laura finds that attractive,” she commented, and they both laughed.

Underneath her hardass, “I must protect people” exterior, Danny was pretty cool. She was funny, and sweet. Michael was glad they weren’t at each other’s throats now he’d firmly allied himself with her kind.

“What do you find attractive in Wilson?” he teased. And then he laughed at the horror on her face.

“Mike, _don’t!_ God.”

“You still haven’t denied it.”

“Shut up, bloodsucker,” Danny growled, hitting him on the arm. “He’s cute, but he’s like a puppy. A really, _really_ annoying puppy.”

“He’s not annoying, he’s misunderstood.” See? He was a good brother. “I don’t know what kind of soulmates you two are – whether you’re platonic or not, I mean. But you do kind of work, by the way. When you stop arguing, you keep each other in check. It’s nice to see, you know? And Wilson’s happy.”

“I think you’re the reason for that.” There wasn’t any horror from the previous things she’d said, just a look of empathy. “I think Laura would agree, too. She says he got so choked up. He’s really glad to have you back.” With that, she stuffed her hands in her jeans and gazed intently at him.

“And now I’m going again,” Michael sighed. When he saw her panicked, guilty expression, he rushed to clarify, “I’m still going, though, you weren’t dissuading me from that.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Yeah, you can’t wait to get a vamp out of the house,” he joked. But then he became serious. “If – if something goes wrong, can you thank everyone for me? For getting me to see Wilson, for living with me, for not staking me. I’ve enjoyed being around you guys. You’re like a second family.” His nose crinkled and he added, “Even if some of you stink.”

Danny chuckled at that, looking down at her feet. “I’ll let you know.” When she looked up again, he could see that her blue eyes were so sincere.

Michael nodded. “Great. Thank you. Well, I should probably go, shouldn’t I?” He took one last look at the inside of the mansion and sighed longingly. “I’m gonna miss this.” Then he turned to face the door, yanked it open, and stepped out into the wintry Austrian air.

“Come back whenever you can, Mike,” the werewolf told him. “We’ll be waiting. And it’s best if you meet us here instead of somewhere like the Lawrence house.”

“Got it,” he smiled, and started eastward down the path. His boots made a satisfying crunching sound as he trod steadily on the snow.

“And be careful, Michael” she shouted.

“Careful’s my middle name!” he shouted back jokingly, before he picked up the pace and lost sight of his brother’s soulmate.

That had been a joke – because if he’d been careful before, he wouldn’t have wound up dead and he definitely wouldn’t have been involved in this mess. But, really, where was the harm in starting now?

* * *

 

Michael still hated the clan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular updates every Tuesday and Saturday!
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	18. No Inhibition, No Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson's keen senses once again proved to be trustworthy, as news spread of a terrible event happening. And while Carmilla was disturbed by this, Laura gave her the best kind of distraction she knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting too used to this 2am uploading. Still, it adds a little danger to the whole process.
> 
> Chapter title taken from How Deep Is Your Love // Calvin Harris ft. Disciple.

There was something off about today. Jackson couldn’t really figure it out, but he just had this feeling that something – somewhere – was going to go wrong. Or already had gone wrong. Whatever it was, it had affected him a _lot_ today. He couldn’t concentrate on anything, often getting distracted and staring off into space even when he told himself to focus.

Maybe it was just the atmosphere of the house. Ever since Michael had gone back to the clan, conversation had been harder to come by. Especially from Kirsch, who was probably going crazy with not knowing how his brother was. He still put a brave face on, though. Jackson admired him for that.

He couldn’t say he blamed the tall journalist for worrying about that. If the vampires sussed Michael out and forced him to tell the truth, the calm before the storm they were experiencing could be cut short. And Michael was Jackson’s friend; the idea of him being hurt sent a shiver of fear down his spine.

(He also knew Kirsch was curious about Jackson’s reaction to Michael. And yeah, Mike was hot. But he was also 4 years older than Jackson. And he was a vampire. So it was pointless, really, and the werewolf hadn’t given it a second thought.)

So he wasn’t going to be particularly productive today. Even if he wasn’t used to this feeling of something being off, the way the car manual he was reading made as much sense to him as a car manual in Portuguese did definitely told him something was wrong.

He sighed and put it down on the small, circular table. He’d given up. Distractedly, he stared at Kirsch, who had his legs crossed on the exquisitely smooth mahogany, tossing a stake back and forth in his hands and frowning down at it, deep in thought. Jackson bit his lip, knowing Carmilla would probably throw him out of the window if she came into this room and saw him like that.

“What’s up?” Jackson finally spoke, breaking the suffocating silence of the room. Outside, the snow fell thicker and thicker. Jackson ignored it now, though he hadn’t been successful before.

Kirsch looked up about five seconds later, just recognising that someone had spoken to him. “Uh, it’s nothing bro.”

The werewolf gave him a look – in all honesty, it was scarily like Danny’s favourite chastising look for her soulmate. Maybe that was what persuaded the ex-frat boy to respond.

“I don’t know, dude,” he frowned. “It’s just… a lot to think about, you know? Mike’s gone and I might not see him again, and this thing with Danny… it’s just really weird.”

“This thing with Danny?” Jackson repeated, a smirk threatening to form.

Kirsch’s expression was still forlorn. “Didn’t think you’d be into hearing about your sister’s love life.”

“Love life? Has it got that far already?” Man, Jackson was so looking forward to teasing Danny about this.

But instead of getting a grin and a, “Shut up, Omega,” he instead got a sigh, and a confession of some sorts. “No, but…”

“Spill, Wilson.”

“Have you ever been really confused about your feelings for someone? Like, they make you happy and all that, but they also make you really upset?”

Jackson crossed his arms, thinking about his flings throughout his education. They were mostly with girls (thanks, heteronormativity), but – if he was honest – he’d enjoyed the male company more. And only a few of them had really made his heart pump fast.

But they were never like Danny. Jackson was a sucker for the “sugar and spice and all things nice” kind of people; their tougher side barely came out to play. And Jackson preferred that, because he was a Lawrence. When it was needed, they could be damn stubborn and feisty. Sometimes he needed the water to calm the flames.

“Can’t say I have,” Jackson responded. “At least, not in the way you mean. But I’m young, so that’s probably a part of it. Why?”

Kirsch coughed. “Because. That’s, uh, kinda how I feel about Danny,” he admitted nervously, taking his legs off the table (finally). “Like, she’s so cool, you know? She’s so… brave, and she fights for what she believes in. I can’t stop thinking about her. But she’s way scary, too, and crazy. And – and when she’s pissed, she gets really argu… argumentable—”

“Argumentative,” Jackson corrected him.

“Yeah, that,” Kirsch nodded, pulling his chair closer to the table. Jackson could see the lights in the small chandeliers reflect off Kirsch’s eyes; they were full of worry, but full of hope, too. “And we always fight. I don’t want that with my soulmate, you know? I wanna stick around for her and help her, but she gets me so upset when she’s like that. I hate it.” His hand went underneath the table, and started tapping out a rhythm Jackson’s sensitive ears could hear.

“You two are like that,” the werewolf shrugged, “and I don’t think you can get rid of that. That’s just part of who you are, I guess. And Danny’s not gonna change that. I love Danny, of course, but she’s got the Lawrence curse. She’s stubborn when it comes to arguments. Believe me, she’s got good at arguing her case. It’s pretty much the only thing that got her that far in her career, except for her damn good stamina. She just has so much drive, you know?”

“She’s been stuck to that planning,” Kirsch affirmed, some of his normal self coming back into his voice. “And I thought of that.”

“It’s a great idea. It’s the right thing for her. She appreciates it, Kirsch, but she wants it to be perfect. She doesn’t want to mess it up again. I think that’s why she’s a bit short with you.” He paused. “Though she’s not short in any other sense.”

Kirsch chuckled.

The werewolf studied him for a second, a comfortable silence descending. Kirsch was a good guy. Jackson knew that as well as he knew his own name. Sure, he was misunderstood, and he often blundered into things he shouldn’t, but he had a really pure heart.

In some ways, he was perfect for Danny. In others, not so.

Boy, that was going to be interesting to watch as the years went on.

“Just don’t get so defensive, yeah?” Jackson told him. “If you back down, she will too. She’s got a good head; she’ll realise you were arguing for stupid reasons. And then… you can finally get the girl.”

His sister’s soulmate wasn’t frowning so much now. There was still fear etched into his stance, in the creases on his forehead – but he allowed his smile to relax a bit. “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks, bro,” Kirsch replied, and the gratitude in his voice touched Jackson.

“Just don’t tell me the gory details, alright?” he winked. Now that conversation was over with, he broached a new topic. “How’s Jordanna doing?”

This was familiar territory for Kirsch. He sat up more, more eager to talk. “She’s doing well, you know. We got a shrink for her, and we’re trying to get her off the stuff she’s been taking. She’s happier. It’s nice to see.” He took a breath before adding, “And after this whole battle is over, I’m gonna take Mike to see her and the folks. I think that’ll help her the most.”

“How will Michael feel about that?”

“He can’t wait to see her, but – you know, this whole battle thing’s still pretty important. He wants to make sure it’s safe before he sees her again,” Kirsch explained. “But they were the youngest, so… he’s gonna be so happy to see her.”

Whatever Jackson was going to say next was interrupted by the arrival of his sister; or, merely, the sound of her. Her scent came next. By this time, Danny was reaching the front door, and would only be seconds from seeing Jackson. As soon as she came into the room, the younger Lawrence stood up, knowing – somehow – that this whole _off_ feeling was to do with her. Not with _her_ , especially, just what she had to say.

This was one of the perks of being a werewolf, he supposed.

“Spill,” he immediately demanded, frowning when he spotted the defeated look in her eyes.

“The _Lophiiformes_ clan have killed three werewolf officials,” she relayed dutifully, yanking her bag off her shoulders and laying it on the table before stuffing her notes from her exercise training class in. “It wasn’t anyone close to us, but one was a Lawrence.”

“Dude, _what?_ ” Kirsch gasped in shock, going perfectly with the snarl of displeasure the younger werewolf emitted. “That’s just – that means the battle can go ahead.”

“Yeah, I know,” Danny rolled her eyes. “Sit down, Jackson. You’re going to want to hear this.”

He nodded numbly and mirrored his sister as they sat down at the same time.

“Bro, are you okay? You weren’t there, were you?” the human wondered nervously, checking her over as she sat down. (Jackson smirked at that.)

“No, no, no, I’m okay,” the athlete assured him, a small smile on her lips. “Thanks for caring, but I was told by dad. Apparently this girl vampire got into the werewolf courts – I have _no_ idea how – and managed to conceal herself before attacking our… grandparents.”

Jackson’s eyes widened at that, but the way Danny wasn’t shaking with grief told him things weren’t as bad as they could have been. (It didn’t mean they weren’t still terrible, though.) As it happened, Danny was tight-lipped with dread. Not grief.

“No, they’re okay. Apparently she’d masked herself with werewolf scent so that threw them off a bit, but once they really concentrated on transforming they weren’t going to be hurt. And she couldn’t fight off two werewolves at once, she was barely a kitten herself, so she couldn’t have won that. But that whole commotion brought more officials to the scene, and they created this huge crowd of wolves. They tried to detain her, but she killed three wolves in the process, and she escaped. She – uh – killed a Fenris, our great-uncle Wilbur Lawrence, and a Vilks. Stanley Vilks, I think.” She paused then, looking blankly at the table in front of her. “So there’s nothing holding us back now. We can fight if we want to.”

 _Well, shit_ , Jackson thought glumly to himself. _It’s close now, isn’t it? We could die, we really could die… and this is the penultimate death. Shit._

“I… should probably tell the others, shouldn’t I?” he broached the question, as if he needed to say that. Jackson was getting good at being messenger for the people around the house; he got on with everyone (even Carmilla tolerated him) and he knew when to interrupt and when to leave smooching lovers alone. He also didn’t mind running to the corners of the mansion for people; he saw it as keeping fit without doing any of that dreaded patrolling.

His older sister gazed at him, eyes wide and daunted, and nodded silently. Carmilla and Laura would want to know. LaF and Perry would want to know. And – no, Michael was with the clan. He couldn’t be told.

Quickly, though his brain didn’t really recognise it, he rose from his seat at the table and clapped his hand on Kirsch’s shoulder before leaving. As he left, he heard a conversation between the two soulmates that was probably meant to be private. It still put the ghost of a smile on the younger werewolf’s face.

“I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t realise,” Kirsch apologised. “My hand was just – I didn’t know it was on your thigh, you just looked shocked, an’—”

“Actually…it’s fine. It kind of helped,” Danny responded nervously.

 _Definitely one of the perks of being a shapeshifter_ , Jackson thought smugly to himself.

* * *

 

Perry still couldn’t quite believe how they’d all got themselves into this mess. Just a few weeks ago, she was waking up early to make breakfast for her favourite person in the world, smiling at the beam on their face as they woke up and saw her caring for them. Just a few weeks ago, she was navigating through office politics and annoying colleagues and unsettled feelings about a topic she didn’t want to discuss.

And now, she was essentially preparing to murder a vampire clan that were fully intent on murdering some of her friends.

Totally, completely normal.

She felt _wrong_ in this situation; she always had done. She was meant to be chastising Laura on staying until 3am to finish off an article (something which had been rare before the arrival of Carmilla in the tiny gay journalist’s life) – not watching her rattle off facts about the upcoming werewolf vs. vampires battle. She was meant to be asking Kirsch when his cast was going to be off – not asking him to move up slightly on this elegant and expensive (and hopelessly dirty) sofa, because he was trying to be as close to his soulmate as possible to care for her and Perry could see that she needed some space. And she was meant to be spending her nights with LaFontaine, recounting treasured memories and enjoying their company (their warmth, their love of life, everything about them) – not wondering if they’d been right all along despite their heart wrenching arguing, and not being able to tell them while they concocted a dangerous weapon to help with the battle.

Perry regarded the room with a mixture of discontent and resignation; she wasn’t meant to be here, but she had no choice. She’d been pulled into this by association – most of them had been. And she was just going to have to deal with that. College Perry would have tried to run away, even if there was nowhere to run to. And with a vampire clan hot on her heels, she didn’t even have it in her to try.

So. No running. Just a good amount of cleaning. That had helped to clear her head slightly. Being able to think better was a good situation to be in, especially in these circumstances.

“So, what do we know so far?” Laura was saying, leaning on the fireplace and making Danny and Jackson even more uneasy with her proximity to the dangerously large fire. “Three officials have been killed, right? That means we can go to battle. We also know that the _Loopi_ —uh, _Lophiiformes_ clan are just outside of Styria. What else? Danny?”

“All of the werewolf families of the surrounding area have been notified,” the ginger werewolf supplied her. (That was another thing. _Werewolves._ ) “All are sending as many fighters as they can, and they’ll be gathering at the Committee’s courts for now. Also, the battle plan has been figured out, and we’re – the Lawrences, I mean – we’re at the back.”

Laura nodded. “Okay, okay. This is good news. It means we’re prepared.”

“Oh, all Lawrences have been excused from work and school, too,” Jackson added, looking up from his phone from his place on the lounger. “Lily just sent me a text saying she’s gone home to help.”

Perry had no idea who Lily was, but she deducted that she was important when Danny bristled with indignation and replied with, “I wish this battle didn’t have to happen.”

“Amen, sister,” Kirsch mumbled beside her, having retracted from Danny a few inches.

Of course. Poor Michael, going back to the clan to act as a double spy. Perry had never had much interaction with him, but from she’d seen, he was a genuine, giving person – if, you know, he was a little surly. But the editor suspected that that came naturally with being an undead creature supposedly from the pits of hell.

She wasn’t given the chance to reflect on this anymore, however; at that precise moment, LaFontaine flung themselves through the door and into the room. “Guys, I’ve done it!” they gasped, out of breath. Perry’s heart immediately started pounding in her chest again, rising above the happy, steady pace it usually had. “I’ve found a way – to make the blood – stick to the stake without – decreasing the longevity of – its potency. It’ll stay on there for longer and it’ll still hurt like a bitch for the vamps.” Their eyes met with Jackson’s, and they pulled a grateful smile. “Thanks for all your help, Alpha.”

“It’s my pleasure, mad scientist,” he grinned in response, even giving a salute. He really was quite the lovely kid.

“Great!” Laura chirped from where she stood, and all eyes settled on her again. “Guys, I have a feeling that this is going to be awesome.”

* * *

 

Carmilla should have been asleep at this time. She should have been starting to leave the heavy darkness that counted as her resting unconsciousness and emerging into the world again as the Sun dipped below the horizon. Alas, this was not the case, though her lack of sleep should have forced the alternative. No, the remaining vampire in the safe house was drawing. It was something of very little importance, but she paid attention to it as if her undead life depended on it.

There were many reasons for the illustrator to be dissatisfied with the idea of hiding away in her human uncle’s mansion. Not only did she feel like she was dirtying her uncle’s family line by bringing her vampire world into his, and not only did she resent the idea of having to hide away in the first place, but the entire set up proved to make her work difficult to reach. Of course, she’d had to return to her apartment a few times to continue with her job, but it wasn’t always possible. And (naturally), the experience was nothing like being able to gravitate towards her art room whenever she felt like her creative flow was going to rip her open – starting with what artificial replacement for a soul she had – if she did not immortalise it. Her art, however, was perhaps the best it had ever been. Confliction, deep passion, fear and surprise and rage; they all featured heavily in her artwork, and even she was impressed by it.

Despite that, what she was drawing now could never be regarded as a masterpiece. It was simply a drawing of a black panther, nails digging into the ground – while it poised, ready to attack, and had a mouth open wide. As well as this, the panther was surrounded by a deep, ominous cloud of shadows that swarmed around the animal; it never swallowed the animal up, but it never receded to the background of the piece, either.

The parallel this had to her time in the vampire clan was all too painfully evident, all too real; without proper instruments, without a proper place in which to create the finest art, Carmilla drew whatever she could in pieces of paper with a previously unknown amount of intensity. It was as instinctual to the vampire as her thirst for blood was; she needed this. She could not survive without it.

It helped to clear her mind, additionally. When centuries of existence and powerful emotions threatened to dethrone her in her own mind, she turned to drawing to make sense of the world. It lured her in like only potent love could otherwise do, and grabbed her by the shoulders until she finally allowed it to let her go. It was at once exhilarating and soothing, the perfect juxtaposition. It suited her, she believed.

She certainly needed that now. She’d heard everything Laura had said downstairs, everything that had been said by everyone downstairs, and the familiar worry that came with the circumstances had rushed back to her mind. She was frightened; frightened she could lose Laura forever, frightened she might be lost in the midst of the battle, frightened even for her girlfriend’s companions. Her soulmate’s alarming complacency in all of this was even more petrifying; Carmilla was reluctant to be the one to pluck the foolish adventurer from the jaws of death, or have to dissuade her again. In response, she’d turned to drawing to make sense of herself, and her place in this.

It was therefore safe to assume that she’d get lost in her thoughts and her art. And she did; so much so that when her favourite tiny gay journalist crept up the stairs and watched her from the doorframe, she didn’t even notice. Didn’t even hear her. Instead, she kept on drawing, kept on brooding, and only realised someone was near her when the journalist spoke.

“It’s peaceful, you know. Watching you draw. You’re in a whole other world.”

The vampire jumped in response, and swung around in the desk’s chair to give a vaguely scathing comment in response. However, not a single word had left her mouth by the time Laura had crossed the room and placed a tender kiss on her cheek. “Evening, cupcake,” she rasped in the end.

“Good evening,” her soulmate giggled, arms still wrapped around the illustrator. Before she ploughed on with her next words, the human took a deep breath. “I love you, by the way.”

Carmilla was stunned. She’d suspected as much, but she had not been prepared to hear the words escape the journalist’s soft, sweet lips. But the mere thought of it caused a smile to tug at her own mouth. “And you know I love you, creampuff. But please, do enlighten me on what has brought this on.”

“Can I not just say it?” Laura grinned, before sighing happily and detaching herself from the illustrator to flop down onto the bed. “I’m just feeling… happy, Carm. And I know that probably sounds really weird, because we’re in this shitty situation, I know – but just hear me out, okay? So, it’s easy to get totally down in the dumps with this whole “there’s a vampire clan that hates us” situation, but I’m trying not to. I just want to be with my friends, with you, to just relax. I’ve not settled down since I found out you were being hunted by the _Lophiiformes_ clan, and it got worse w-with… SJ’s death. But I realised that I may die soon, but I have this time now to see the people who I care about. And – and – I’ve just seen LaFontaine and Perry have a serious conversation about their issue while smiling at each other. And I’ve just seen Danny fall asleep on Kirsch’s shoulder. Things – well, most things – feel weirdly right, you know? I’ve got great friends, I’ve got you, and I know I can count on all of you whatever happens. It’s just – it’s a great feeling, Carm, and I feel really lucky.”

The smile previously playing on Carmilla’s lips did not fade. It really was quite something to see Laura so happy, despite everything. In true Laura style, she was charging on with her life – never forgetting the seriousness of the situation, but remembering to smile once in a while too. It wasn’t your average knight-in-shining-armour courage, but one so unique to the journalist that it was hard not to be charmed when in its presence.

It was hard not to be charmed by this girl in general, Carmilla knew. She knew this as well as she knew of the fact that she was completely drawn to this girl; this tiny, ball of enthusiasm and conviction and sometimes even rage. She was drawn to her quirks and her courage and her caring smiles. She was enraptured by her, but she was not blind in that. She was simply freed.

She rose from the chair, from the desk, and glided away from the drawing and towards the bed Laura and she shared. “An admirable speech, sundance, truly, though I would have suspected such feelings even if you hadn’t told me,” she grinned, delicately placing a hand on one of Laura’s legs that were curled up on the bed. “Still, I appreciate the appearance of a good speech.”

“I’m glad you appreciate it, I didn’t want to mess it up.”

“How could you? Truth tends to be conveyed no matter what is said. You could’ve said anything and I would’ve understood.”

For a while Laura just stared; she just stared at the vampire, and Carmilla felt like her girlfriend was undressing her very essence of her being just with her inquisitive eyes. But then her soulmate’s expression became soft and full of awe. “How is it that we just get each other like that? I know it’s not for everything but… for most things. We just fit. How did I get so lucky?”

Carmilla tilted her head to one side and pursed her lips in an amused fashion. “This soulmate scenario isn’t one-sided, cutie. I often ask myself how I got this lucky too. I’ve gone through centuries of existence where I believed myself to be inadequate, out of place. It’s too simple to lose your mind and lose your hope. But in you I’ve found my home. For that, I cannot thank you enough.”

The tiny journalist chose not to reply with words, but with actions. And the vampire didn’t mind this in the slightest; she met Laura halfway and it felt like the distance had never been there in the first place. By now they knew each other intricately, through actions and kisses and fingers over skin. But they didn’t know each other’s bodies fully, had not become accustomed to the most personal of places, the most personal of smiles.

And maybe it was an act of total comfort, or an act of desperation plucked from dark times, but this seemed to be the perfect time; the time to act, for they had little time left. Carmilla knew it would be tinged with this desperation, but that merely fuelled the fire. And this was a fire that burned her alive, with tendrils of flame blazing from her lips bruised with kisses to the tips of her toes. (Had she ever felt this alive? She couldn’t remember anything like this. Her flings hadn’t had this passion; lust had not been entwined with love.)

Only when Laura was straddling her did they pause to recollect their senses. “Carmilla,” the journalist panted, while the vampire in question planted heavy kisses on the human’s neck. “What about the – _crap_ – the werewolves? Won’t – won’t they hear us?”

“Creampuff,” Carmilla grinned, her own chest heaving as she brought her eyes to meet the journalist’s once more, “the Ginger Giant is asleep, so she won’t hear. And I would not be averse to threatening the puppy werewolf if he wants to complain about it.”

“You don’t have to threaten him,” Laura pouted adorably. “He’s our friend, too.”

“Laura, we can discuss this later,” the vampire reminded her. “Right now, I don’t have much more on my mind than making this spectacle a whole lot more interesting.”

“Okay, okay,” her girlfriend gasped. “Smooching now, talking later. Good, good.”

Carmilla could practically hear the internal freaking out the soulmate was doing. “Cupcake, you’re still talking.”

“Right.” With that, Laura grinned at her and leant down to stop any more words from spilling out of their mouths, a sly little smile on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular updates every Tuesday and Saturday!
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	19. I Am So Scared of What Will Kill Me in the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, finally, there might have been an end in sight for all of this mayhem. But, unfortunately, it brought a surprise none of the Dimwit Squad - or the Lawrence family - wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got caught using my laptop at 2am. So my laptop was taken away from me :c but I can upload the chapter now, so enjoy ^^
> 
> Chapter title taken from Human // Ellie Goulding.

Everyone went quiet again. Kirsch figured out that everyone fully realised what was going to happen. How worrying it was all gonna be. Even LaF, who was usually quite happy anyway – they went quiet. People didn’t really smile any more.

It was like two years ago. It was like what the Kirsch family were like. Knowing Mike went back to the clan made it even worse, if he was honest.

Kirsch had been to see Jordanna and his parents a few times since Danny had told them the news, but it was so weird to see them still believing that Michael was dead and never coming back. After a while, he couldn’t face it; he made Laura turn around and go back to the safe house. He didn’t trust himself to lie to them. He hated lying to them. He didn’t want to do it anymore. Laura understood, of course she did.

She was just like that. Always helpful.

Or maybe she’d just wanted a distraction from the tension that was building between Carmilla and her. His colleague was insisting on helping out in this battle and Carm-sexy did _not_ like that idea. Kirsch could see why Laura wanted to go – for revenge, to save her friends – but the vamp had a pretty good point. The air kinda felt stale between them – and that sucked, because Kirsch didn’t want babes fighting.

(He could hear Danny scolding him for that thought in his head. Right. Not babes. Right.)

And, yeah, he fought with his soulmate sometimes, but it wasn’t like he’d given up on trying to be peaceful. Neither of them could really help it. Like Jackson said, they just got on each other’s nerves, that’s who they were. But Kirsch was trying not to get worked up, and he knew Danny appreciated it. It didn’t mean that she won every battle, he just figured out when to pick his fights.

So things were quieter. For good reasons and bad reasons.

Everyone still didn’t know when this battle was gonna happen. They knew it was soon – hell, it could be any day now – but they’d not got any information from anyone. The werewolves returned from their trips to their house with the same news: the werewolves are training. They were getting angry. Carm-sexy offered nothing, obviously, and the books from the Library couldn’t predict the future. (Laura had said that she’d seen a book that could predict the future but didn’t pick it up because she was being attacked by a copy of _De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium_ by Copernicus.) And Michael was gone. They were just stuck, and they couldn’t do anything except sharpen stakes and look outside to watch the snow fall.

It was boring. And tense. And Kirsch was slowly but definitely going crazy.

When he heard a knock on the door on Monday evening, he thought he must be hearing things. He’d gone to take his plate back to the kitchen where LaFontaine and Perry were washing the pots (and talking about adoption clinics nearby), and was on his way back when he heard it. It was frantic, like, really rushed. It was just his imagination, surely? He just wanted Michael to be back. But… there was no harm in looking. He padded over to the door, unsure on both of his feet, still, and unlocked it.

And there was Michael. Almost covered in white snowflakes. But he was there.

Kirsch immediately grinned at his dead brother – but it faltered when he saw Michael’s expression. The dude looked out of his mind. Oh, God, what had they done to him? Had they messed up his brain? Was he going to attack Kirsch?

At this thought, the human took a step back – but Michael grabbed onto him, collected himself and reassured his brother, “I’m okay, bro, I promise. I’m… managing.” He held up his only blood packet left, half-drained.

“You gotta come inside, Mike, you need more blood,” Kirsch whispered, mollified. Thank God, his brother was okay. His brother was—

“No, I can’t, I can’t be here long,” Michael interrupted, casting nervous glances about. “Dude, they’re coming. They’re planning the battle for Saturday. _All_ of them are gonna come, and they want this to be a bloodbath.”

 _Five days? Shit_ , Kirsch thought with horror.

“But – how – when will the werewolves know?”

“That’s why I’m here, Wilson,” the vampire responded dully.

At this point, Perry passed through the corridor, on her way to collect more places. She spotted Kirsch and Michael talking at the door and bustled over to them. “Michael, what are you doing, standing _outside_?”

“I need to go, Perr,” he responded quickly. “I can’t stay. But… can you get me some blood? It’s urgent.”

Her eyes widened in shock and her frizzy ginger hair bobbed up and down as she hastily nodded, before disappearing again.

“You really can’t stay?” Kirsch pouted, goosebumps already rising on his arms. He just wanted his brother back. Having him die on Kirsch must have changed something in him forever, because it was just so painful to see him go now. Like, he didn’t know how he’d agreed to this. And there was such a rush of happiness when he saw his younger brother again.

He didn’t know whether he could let Michael go now.

“No, Wilson, I’m sorry,” the vampire sighed. “They re-enrolled me to the clan; they like to call it reinterring members. And I don’t think they suspected a thing. I’ve stayed out of the way, but I haven’t caused suspicion or anything.” He paused. “It’s really weird without Will.”

“Yeah, well, he nearly killed Laura’s dad.”

Michael nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I know. He was the only vampire that was actually interested in talking to me, apart from Mother.”

Kirsch frowned. Poor kid. “Do they talk to you now?”

The vampire shook his head glumly. “Only the ones in the… the envoy, _crap_.” His eyes widened and he grabbed onto his older brother as he rushed his words. “The clan are letting the werewolves know tonight. They sent an envoy – a whole group of us down here. The other vampires are going to hunt for a victim tonight, and they’ll kill them. And then –”

“Michael, I got you some blood,” Perry chirped, appearing behind the tall journalist again. Kirsch smiled at her in greeting, but it was a pretty strained smile, because his brother was _just_ about to say some important info.

His boss piled a few blood packets into the vampire’s hands, taking care not to drop them. “I hope that’ll be enough.”

“It’ll last me the five days,” Michael nodded. “Thanks so much, Perry.”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry,” she brushed it off. “What did you mean when you said ‘the five days’?”

“The vampires are coming in five days,” Kirsch’s younger brother relayed dutifully – and that was enough to send Perry off to the kitchen to tell the others.

Now Kirsch just wanted to know about the rest of the details. Well, okay, he didn’t really want to know – because, _dude_ , killing someone for fun just isn’t nice! – but he knew this would be helpful. Anything to stop any more fighting, of course.

“What’s gonna happen to the victim, bro?” Kirsch murmured, hesitant eyes on the vampire’s. There was still that wild glint to them, that panic. If Kirsch could take that away from his brother somehow, he would. But he couldn’t.

“They’re –” Michael breathed in “– they’re going to hang them up somewhere near the Lawrence’s house and write a message on them. Something like, “ALPS. FIVE D. LOPH.” Just a message so the werewolves know where to go to fight the clan. I was meant to be part of the envoy but I broke away from the group and came to see you. I… I didn’t want to see that.”

Kirsch swallowed uneasily, feeling a little sick. He hadn’t been expecting that. That was twisted, man, really twisted. The sooner this battle was over with, the better. “I’m glad you came, Mike,” he responded eventually – because, really, what could else could he say?

“Me too, bro.” The smile there was small, and it was a little broken, but it was still a smile. Kirsch still counted it as a smile. And that made the journalist want to hug his brother, but Michael got in there first. Then they were embracing, their relief at seeing each other obvious. “I don’t want to go back, Wilson, it hurts to go back. It hurts to leave you all. But I have to. I have to.”

“Stay with us,” Kirsch pleaded when they broke off the hug.

“I can’t, we both know it.”

The journalist was just stuttering now. He was desperate to keep Mike in his sights, but he knew he couldn’t fight this. He had to go back. It was killing Kirsch, but Michael had to go back.

His dead brother sighed, and playfully knocked Kirsch’s arm. “You gotta protect the rest of them for me, alright? I can’t be there, but I am in my heart. Keep them all from harm, and I’ll see if I can get back to you after the fight.”

He was going already? No, no, no. He couldn’t go already. Kirsch’s heart felt like it was being ripped in two. He didn’t want his brother to leave.

“I’ve gotta go,” Michael rushed, seeing the despair in Kirsch’s eyes. “Thank you, Wilson. And I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.”

With that, his dead brother had slipped from his reach again. The third time.

Kirsch closed the door with way too much force and banged his head against the corridor’s wall. Not again. Not again. He didn’t know if he would see his brother after the fight. Not again.

* * *

 

“Remind me again why I’m being forced to travel with you,” the angry hottie vamp muttered from next to him, eyes landing on everything but him.

“Because you can protect me if things go wrong, and I can protect you,” Kirsch supplied simply, repeating what he’d said five minutes earlier. “Come on, Carm, it’s only a walk, and you’re—”

“Don’t call me Carm, dimwit,” she growled suddenly, and Kirsch pouted.

“But Laura does!” he complained, before shivering suddenly when a really icy wind blasted through him.

Damn it. He’d put on three sweaters and a coat. He should be boiling by now. Yet he hadn’t even started sweating. Stupid winter, stupid snow.

“Laura’s different,” the vampire sighed. She’d been forced into a red sweater, a grey woolly scarf and a coat of black cotton and wool – because, as Laura put it, “You’ve got to look the part, Carm. We know you’re a centuries old badass who doesn’t feel the cold, but others will freak out. And I don’t want you getting mobbed, okay?” It had taken a hell of a lot of convincing, but finally she’d been draped in the clothes and finally looked the part.

Kirsch rolled his eyes but didn’t comment on it. He was starting to feel that way about Danny, too, so it would be out of line for him to say anything. “As I was _saying_ … you’re accepted by the Lawrence family anyway, so we’ll be welcomed instead of pitchforked. It’s a good choice, bro. We’re like a crime-fighting duo! You could be… Kickass Carmilla – and I could be…”

“Woolly-headed Wilson?” she suggested, sighing heavily.

“Dude, that hurts.” He wasn’t _that_ dumb. He was a journalist, for one. He could be professional if he wanted to, even if he had to look up some words online.

“That’s why I said it, numbnuts.” She sighed again. “Laura has the worst friends.”

“Yeah, but if she had different ones, d’you think they would have accepted you as being a vamp?”

She was silent. Match point to Kirsch.

“I know what I’m talking about, alright? We’re awesome, anyway. We got all we need, and we got each other.”

“Spare me the sentimental crap, Kirsch.”

Fine. He could be quiet. He could just listen to his own thoughts.

His own thoughts were centred on Michael, his family, and the cold. He still missed Michael, it hurt like a bitch – but he was the reason why they were walking to the Lawrences now; it was for a good cause. (And Michael had done that!) Danny and Jackson had gone over to their parents’ house earlier, so Kirsch and Carmilla had been elected to take the news over. They didn’t just need to see the message on the – Kirsch shuddered involuntarily – body, they needed to hear about how Mike was doing. They were his friends, after all.

He wasn’t gonna lie, Kirsch was nervous to meet the Lawrences. These were his soulmate’s family; were they gonna like him? Would they approve of him? He wanted to be the best guy possible for the _Danbeschützer_. He didn’t know what to do if they didn’t like him.

“I can hear you thinking from over here, frat boy.”

He did a double take. “Wait – is that, like, a real thing?” he wondered.

The illustrator snorted. “It’s a figure of speech.” Lazily, she looked ahead, and spotted a house in front of them. “We’re here.”

Kirsch followed her gaze; yeah, it looked like it matched the description Danny had given them. And – he checked the slip of paper with shivering hands – it matched the address he’d got too. “See?” he beamed. “Knew it wouldn’t be too long. Come on!” He picked up his pace, then, and bounded over to the door once they reached the gates.

It was a modest-looking house for its size. There’d had to have been quite a few bedrooms, because they had six kids and all, but everything else about this house was just really humble. Quaint little decorations on the outside, a small garden. And inside one of the front windows was the kitchen; the tall journalist could see a few ginger people – most as tall as him, if not taller – talking and drinking coffee. He grinned at the vampire next to him (she still looked really bored) and knocked on the door.

Or he would have, except the door swung open before he could put his hand on the wood and he nearly fell into the kid in front of him. She was a kid, because she looked pretty young – but he wasn’t always good at guessing people’s ages, so he just left it at that. She was small and had a strange hair colour – blonde but with ginger highlights to it – and she gazed up at Kirsch with a smirk on her face.

“Hey! Smelled you two before you saw us. That’s thanks to you, vamp,” she greeted them, before turning to Kirsch, “and _your_ atrocious body spray. Seriously? Smells like dead horse.”

“Dude!” Kirsch gasped, tempted to smell his body spray now. Was it that bad? That was the last time he listened to Michael about stuff like that. “Not the way to greet someone.”

The girl gave them a little noise of indifference, and shrugged. “I’m not conventional.” She was about to ask them something when she realised something. “Oh my God, you’re the frat boy, aren’t you? Your Danny’s unlucky soulmate!”

Confused, Kirsch looked at Carmilla for guidance; she was leaning against the wall, just looking a bit bemused. “Uh, well, I suppose so. I’m not a frat boy n—”

“Oh my God! _Finally_ , I get to meet the cute guy she managed to trap,” she beamed. She leaned closer to him, and (alarmingly) took his cheeks and squidged them in her hands. “Look at you, you’re so cute! She’s right, you’re like a puppy! Aw. Hey, do you have abs? Danny thinks you do.” Noticing his shocked expression, she added, “Are you gonna tell me, or am I going to have to yank your sweaters up to see, puppy boy?”

Beside them, Carmilla was chuckling with gleeful laughter. Kirsch felt his cheeks burn red; he was never going to be able to live this down, damn it. “Yeah, I guess.” He shook his head, snapping himself out of his embarrassment. “Speaking of Danny, can I speak to her? We’ve got some info about the clans you guys will want. And Danny and Jackson came here earlier, so we need to tell them too.”

The girl just gave him a blank face. “What are you talking about, Kirsch?”

Kirsch felt his stomach drop slightly in dread. No, he wasn’t supposed to hear this. “D-Danny and Jackson came here, right? They walked over to yours this afternoon. I thought they were only gonna stay for a bit but they haven’t come back, so we just assumed they’d be… here. They’re here, right? Please tell me they’re here.”

Her face was pale now. “No, Kirsch, they never got here. I didn’t even know they were supposed to come. I don’t – do you know where they are?”

Oh, God. This could not be happening right now. If Danny and Jackson weren’t at the Lawrences, or at the safe house… on the night the vampires came to Silas…

“Kirsch?” the girl asked, her voice trembling.

He glanced at Carmilla again; the fear on her face was as clear to him as the snow on the ground. They both knew what had happened. What had gone wrong.

The envoy. The envoy had taken them.

* * *

It was dark. It was dark, and cold, and there was a constant dripping noise a little bit in front of Danny that was going to drive her insane if it didn’t stop. And the ropes her hands were tied to scratched at her skin, and the erratic, panicked breathing from Jackson was worrying her, and all of this was just awful. This was not supposed to happen. They were not supposed to be in the hands of the _Lophiiformes_ clan.

But she had Michael and Jackson with her. They were all bound to their chairs in this dingy, dark room – she guessed it was a cellar of some sort – and they were all facing away from each other, but they were together. That was all that Danny needed. She had her friend here, her brother here. She could try to protect them still. Even if their hands and feet were tied and they were being watched by one of the _Lophiiformes_ members.

If she could figure out where they were and get them out of this hellhole, that would be even better.

_Drip._

“Jackson, it’s okay,” Michael whispered.

“Shut it,” the vampire guarding them hissed.

_Drip._

“He’s my friend and he’s freaking out; can I not help the poor guy out? Or is that a new crime, too?” her soulmate’s brother retorted. Ever since he’d been caught for sneaking away (clearly, the clan had suspected him after all) and lumbered with the werewolves, he’d been surly and irritable. But the athlete couldn’t really blame him.

The vampire was in front of him in an instant, and he must have done something to Michael, because the younger vampire gasped. “You don’t have the right to speak, _Wolfliebhaber_. You lost that when you betrayed the clan for the _Hund Atem_.” His accent was very broad, but his German was still easy to make out.

Danny growled threateningly at the insult.

_Drip._

The vampire jailer just laughed at her. “Oh, mudpaw, how harmless you are. You can’t do anything but snarl at me, can you?” He floated over to her, and bent down so his nose ghosted across her cheek. “I could snap your bones in two, in three, in however many parts I want. I could rip your puny flesh apart. I could take out your eyes, and you wouldn’t be able to do anything but scream until your lungs are destroyed as well.” He laughed again. “It’s a shame, really, that rope binds you so easily. It makes this too easy.” He trailed his fingers lightly over her arm; she yanked it from his touch and held her head high. “Yes, such a shame. You are a pretty girl, Danjada, but you will break so easily.”

Danjada. The female version of Danjad, the name her own was derived from. In her parents’ voices, it was cherished, said with great pride. In this vampire’s voice, it felt like a swear word, something tarnished and dirty.

It filled her with more fury than she’d ever known. She was seeing red all over again – and _God_ , she would’ve loved to transform, just so she could tear this insufferable dickhead apart, limb by limb – but she had to control herself. She couldn’t change now. Her element of surprise would be gone, and there would be no way to escape.

“Don’t you dare hurt her,” snarled Jackson, to her left. “I swear, if you lay a finger on her—”

“You’ll, what, spit at me?” the vampire interrupted mockingly. He poked her arm. “Whoops. Looks like I just did.”

Jackson, despite how terrified he was, thrashed around in his seat trying to get at the vampire.

“Jackson, don’t!” Danny and Michael protested at the same time, petrified of the consequences. Danny continued with the words, “Don’t endanger yourself even more. I need you alive, not torn apart in a cellar somewhere, okay?”

He relented. Thank God.

_Drip._

“I wouldn’t count on staying alive for much longer, idiots,” the vampire countered without a hint of remorse in his voice.

 _“Wolfgang, it’s time to leave them alone now. I would like to converse with them myself,”_ came a smooth and all too chilling voice.

Danny’s blood ran cold. She knew who that was.

_Drip._

The vampire – Wolfgang, what a stupid name – sighed before answering, “Of course, Mother.” He walked away from the athlete and said in a ceremonious voice, “Mother will see you now.”

They heard his footsteps diminish in volume; Danny reached out to try and link her fingers with her friend and her brother, but they were too far away.

Heels clicked on the stone ground. Next to her, Jackson shuddered.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all, my dears. Now, how shall I put this?”

_Drip._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation (from German to English): Wolfliebhaber - Wolf lover. Hund Atem - Dog breath.  
> (I used Google Translate for this, so if you know that's not right, then please tell me! And I will very gratefully thank you and change it!)
> 
> Regular updates every Tuesday and Saturday!
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	20. I Think I'm Losing My Mind for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one liked waiting, whether they were in the hands of the enemy or not. During this. Kirsch had a dream that gave him a brief sense of relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't manage to upload this before midnight, but still. I tried. Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> Chapter title taken from Subtle // Active Child feat. Mikky Ekko.

Time forgot to have a meaning here. Little could help him figure out what the time it was, or how much time had passed since they got captured. He could only just make out when the sun rose and when it set, and that was too much to bear.

Time had little meaning, and so did hope. Now, Jackson tried to think that he was a positive yet practical guy – always hoping for the best, but being prepared for the worst. But he’d lost hope pretty quickly.

They weren’t going to get rescued. (That was a suicide mission.) They weren’t able to rescue themselves. (That was a suicide mission.) They were going to have to wait until the battle, when Lilita Morgan – Michael’s Mother – dragged them out of the cellar and sent them to their deaths. Then they had the possibility of escaping. (That was a suicide mission. Lilita Morgan had warned them on that first night that if one of the wolves attempted or even planned to escape, she’d personally deal with them and feed them to the traitor vampire.)

They hadn’t even got a chance to see the rest of their family. They’d been approached by a gang of _Lophiiformes_ members earlier in the day, all of them wearing thick black coats with ginormous hoods so they didn’t burn under the sun. They couldn’t have fought off all of those vampires, so they’d been concealed in the surrounding countryside for most of the day until the other envoy that Michael had gone with had met them. And Michael was pushed into them; they’d pronounced him a traitor, a defective kitten with no honour. Kirsch’s brother had tried to plead with them, but the vampires wouldn’t have any of it – and all of them, together, restrained the three of them and blindfolded them. Jackson had tried to latch onto Danny, and Danny to Michael, but they were prized apart and shoved so they started walking. When Jackson had felt a vampire dig their sharp nails into his neck, making it bleed, he’d shaken the vamp off. His hyperventilating had started there. Though it had receded now, it was lurking just underneath, ready to spring into action should something else happen.

He felt so small, so weak compared to the weight of the situation. He was 17; he was meant to be looking forward to winter break and a cosy Christmas with the family. Yet Jackson was being taken hostage, not knowing whether he was going to survive the next few days or not – all the while being mocked by Wolfgang the vampire.

He could feel the derision Wolfgang felt. He could feel the vampire’s eyes on him, even if Jackson couldn’t see the hostage keeper himself.

This was the last place he wanted to be. He hated it.

After Lilita Morgan’s talk with them last night ( _More like very casual threatening_ , he snorted to himself), Wolfgang – who had taken it upon himself to become their personal jailer – had taken their chairs away from each other so they couldn’t find any comfort in each other’s close presences. He’d dragged Danny over to the source of the irritating drip, positioning her chair so the water droplets hit her back at long, irregular intervals. (It would be driving her insane.) Next, he’d hauled Jackson’s chair to stand next to his own – except the werewolf now faced the wall, watching the beetles climb the brick surface and trying not to listen to Wolfgang’s indifferent tales of how his latest meals died. Finally, he’d towed Michael’s chair close to where the only window in the whole room was situated – at the very top of the wall adjacent to Jackson’s own. None of them had seen the window until very small shafts of light shone through the next morning. Wolfgang decided to position Michael’s chair where the light would hit the ground, so every day the “traitor” vampire had to endure the light burning a line on his right cheek. There was nothing he could do to get away from it; if his chair moved an inch, Wolfgang would happily put it back where it was even when the light shone on him too. He would gladly do the same for Danny and Jackson.

And Jackson did try to get away a few times. He was sick of hearing about the poor victims that this cruel vampire had killed. One of the people he’d even recognised. (A girl in his class. She was loud and irritating, but that never justified being bled dry by an egotistical vampire.) But for that he was pulled closer to the insufferable dead moron, and told an even more horrifying story. Every time that happened, he had to keep his head down and think about calming things – the kitchen when everyone was home; the familiar smell of the woods; the feeling of cold, slick car parts in his hands.

He managed to keep his anger at bay, somehow. Somehow. The thing was, he was so filled with hatred and terror that he was always just a word away from transforming into his wolf form and lashing out at the vampire. Sometimes, he couldn’t help it – a growl would rip into the air from his throat, and Danny would hiss at him to be calm. That usually helped (Danny could be very persuasive if she needed to), and he didn’t want any repercussions for it. They all knew, obviously, that if any of them lashed out, they’d be killed.

There really was no hope for them.

Time passed – or maybe it didn’t pass at all. Maybe it didn’t exist. Jackson couldn’t tell if anything was happening. Wolfgang had dozed off in the middle of one of his stories, safely hidden in the dark where the light couldn’t find him. Michael was trying his hardest to be silent, trying to hide his whimpers as the light sliced through his sensitive skin.

He didn’t envy being in Danny’s position right now. He would do anything to get that damn dripping to stop.

There was one thing they could do. Well – him and Danny. They had one weapon at their disposal.

But – no. He’d never go there. A shudder rocketed through his body. It was one of pure, undiluted fear, white hot and almost able to tip him over the edge into transforming.

He was never going to turn into his hybrid form again. He had little control over his hybrid self – even less than other werewolves – and he never wanted to see the consequences of that again. The first time he’d transformed into his hybrid form (just to test it out), he’d done something he never wanted to think about again. God, he’d been such an idiot for getting close to the streets when clambering around, nearly out of his mind with the ferocity the hybrid form had brought out in him. He’d been such an idiot for seeing the woman walking home and not concealing himself. He’d been such an idiot for not being able to control himself.

He gulped down his fear. He couldn’t think of that now. He just had to get through this. Had to get through this torture.

He could wait.

He didn’t know whether he was waiting for his death or not.

* * *

 

It was still. Silent. Laura didn’t like it.

This sense of… emptiness had stuck around in the house ever since Mike had gone. No one felt it as much as Kirsch did, but it was affecting all of them. Conversation was hard to come by. The books stolen from the sub-basements of the library really didn’t make things any better. And this whole argument with Carmilla was making things even worse – there was something missing in their closeness. Her soulmate held onto her like she was going to disappear the second she let go, and Laura knew there was a little resentment behind that.

The illustrator was sleeping next to her, a picture of perfect elegance. Her sharp features were cushioned by the pillow, and the way the sheets curled around her reminded the journalist of famous paintings made by the greats of the classical world – but there was no softness to the view in front of her. Carmilla was still frowning even in her sleep, and her hands were balled into fists.

It was just really sad.

The vampire hadn’t bothered to join the others the night before, so Laura had gone to bed early. There was nothing to do but wait, and Laura hated waiting. She wanted to be doing, she wanted to be _helping_. Carmilla was refusing to let her help, and the laws of supernatural war were doing the same. But Laura couldn’t help it. She wanted – she _needed_ – to help, because some of this was her fault, too. SJ had died because of _her_. Danny and Jackson and all their siblings were without a sister because of her.

No matter how much her friends insisted that it wasn’t her fault, that the vampires’ Mother was to blame, she still wouldn’t believe it. She’d stopped outright denying it, to pacify them, but they couldn’t read her mind.

She couldn’t go back to sleep. No, that was definitely not going to happen. So instead, she just watched the hands on the clock close to her spin round and round, losing herself in the motion.

She felt off. This whole atmosphere of loss and anticipation was eating into her. This whole… _thing_ with her soulmate was eating into her too. And – well, Laura hated arguing. Everyone did. She couldn’t look at her girlfriend without feeling guilty (even when she was asleep, for crying out loud!). The sinking feeling at the bottom of her stomach was kind of permanent now, and she was tired of feeling it. But until the battle – which was three _long_ days away – nothing could be done. There was nothing she could do.

But honestly? There wasn’t much she could do while the fighting started, anyway. Laura, Kirsch, Perry and LaFontaine would just have to skirt around the outside of the battleground, protecting themselves from stray vampires while they looked for Danny and Jackson and Michael. Before Kirsch’s brother had gone back to the clan, the journalist had simply wanted to go to make sure that the werewolves won against the _Lophiiformes_ clan. Then, before the werewolves were taken hostage, she’d wanted to go to rescue Mike as well. And now they had to get Danny and Jackson.

There was no way she could stay behind. She couldn’t understand why Carmilla didn’t see this.

Laura sighed, figuring there was no point in staying in bed. There wasn’t any way that she could get back to sleep now. Not after – not after her nightmare. The one where the tunnels underneath the safe house – something LaFontaine had discovered yesterday, despite their thorough explorations they’d done when they’d first arrived – had opened like graves being torn apart from underneath the earth. They’d been helpless; the _Lophiiformes_ members had got into every room in the house. Carmilla had protected Laura, but she’d seen her friends—

No. Nope. Definitely not thinking of that right now. She quietly swung her legs over the side of her bed, almost tripped on her way to fetch her bathrobe, and tiptoed downstairs.

LaFontaine and Perry were in the kitchen, making pancakes. Of course they were. Perry would try to create any illusion of normality she could. Still, she really wasn’t complaining; her stomach growled with hunger the moment she stepped onto the cold tiles of the room.

“Laura!” LaFontaine cried happily, their voice still rough with sleep. (The weird sleeping patterns of the vampires had knocked off everyone’s body clocks.) They were still dressed in pyjamas, and their hands were cradling a cup of coffee while their wife flitted about, trying to find fruit that wasn’t growing mould. “You’re awake! Perr made pancakes for all the humans.”

Perfect. That was _exactly_ what she needed. “Thanks, Perry,” she beamed as she plopped a few of them onto a plate already laid out for her. “This is just what the doctor ordered.” At the sight of the partners’ pleased faces, she tucked in. Damn, her boss made the best food.

“Why are you down so early, then, Hollis?” Perry wondered innocently. “Is Carmilla asleep?”

Laura nodded; that was all she could do right now. There were a few moments of waiting before the journalist swallowed and answered properly, “Yeah, she sleeps like the dead in the mornings.” Beside her, the agent gave an approving chuckle. “Also – uhm… I had a dream. A bad dream. And they gave me an idea, actually. But – I’m really enjoying these pancakes, can I tell you afterwards?”

“No, no, of course! Just don’t get indigestion,” the ginger-haired editor immediately accepted. “LaFontaine, could you pass me the chocolate sauce?”

“Wha-? Oh, sure.” There were a few moments of silence before LaFontaine returned to their wife, and they gave her a happy kiss on the cheek.

They were adorable. Clearly, they’d managed to solve their differences for now. Maybe Perry had finally opened up to the idea of having children, or LaFontaine had given up asking about it for now. Either way, Laura was jealous.

Kirsch still hadn’t come down for breakfast. She’d expected him to, but she wasn’t distraught that he wasn’t here. She could understand it, really. Some of the people he was closest to – even his soulmate – were either pretending to support the clan that wanted his loved ones dead, or were imprisoned by the clan. No wonder he didn’t want to be awake right now.

Laura missed him. She missed his easy smile and the way he stumbled around on his crutches (those had gone too). She missed the way his eyes would light up at any suggestion she’d give. Now, he just looked lost. She wanted him back.

She wanted Danny back. She wanted Jackson back. She wanted Michael back. She wanted this to stop.

Three days. She could last for three more days, surely?

“So, L, you were saying about a dream or something?” LaF enquired, noticing that Laura had stopped eating and had gone off into her own world.

The journalist jumped back into life. “Uh, _yes_ , right. My dream was about the underground tunnels you found. I dreamt that the _Lophiiformes_ vampires came to the safe house through them and attacked all of us. So… yeah, not a nice dream. I was – I was just thinking, the vampires might know of them, so it would be best to block them up, right? That way, we’re safer.” She paused. “Sorta.”

The two gingers considered it for a moment. Nothing else was heard except the coffee machine Jackson had brought ages ago from his house.

“It’s not a bad idea. But we don’t know our way around them yet,” Perry responded eventually.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t learn,” the agent countered. “We could do that tonight, couldn’t we? It would give us something to do.”

“All of us, or should someone stay behind?” the tiny brunette wondered.

A few seconds again, before a reply. “All of us.”

“I don’t think my fingernails can last if we don’t do something tonight.”

“LaFontaine, that’s not sanitary!” the editor scolded.

“Sorry, Perr, sometimes you forget those sort of things when your friends are being hunted by an ancient cult clan.”

* * *

 

The days weren’t as appealing anymore. Kirsch knew this. Outside, the snow had stopped falling. There was just a white, boring blanket of the stuff. Nothing great to look at. And there wasn’t much to do inside, too.

Just wandering, waiting. Waiting for some word from his brother. Waiting for a chance to get Danny and Jackson back.

It really sucked.

So, yeah. There wasn’t much point in getting up. Not for now, at least. Nah, he could wait for a little longer in bed and nothing would happen.

He wondered where Danny and Jackson were. He wondered if they were okay. But, damn, he was kinda fed up of just asking and not knowing. That had been his battle all his life. And this really was the worst thing he’d had to go through.

Michael’s death had been awful. Seeing Jordanna lose herself had been horrifying. But knowing that Mike was risking his life again, that his soulmate was risking her life, and all of her family too – God, he hated it. He wished this shit had never happened in the first place. If this hadn’t happened…

His brother would still be dead. Jordanna would not be herself. And Kirsch would still be trying to hold it together.

Ah. So, clan or no clan, he’d still be wanting a better life.

Damn. Never mind.

He didn’t get any sleep that night. It was kinda hard to, because of all that had happened. The vampire hottie was on her own, making Laura unhappy – and Kirsch hated seeing the little nerd hottie unhappy – and LaFontaine and Perry were just going through the books again. There was no conversation, no happiness. All Kirsch had done was stare at Danny’s papers for her Victory games or whatever and gone through them.

And yeah, maybe he’d written down a few suggestions – nothing too big, just names for different groups – but that was it. He didn’t have anything else to give her. She was better at that stuff, not him. That was why she was doing it, and why Kirsch was just writing articles. (When had he written his last article? He’d be surprised if they hadn’t lost their jobs by now.) Still, it was something. It was another link to her, even though he didn’t know where the hell she was.

He missed her. She annoyed him so much sometimes, but he still missed her.

After writing down those suggestions, he’d gone to bed. But he hadn’t slept all night. Everything was way too quiet – like, silent. He was used to the wolves and the vamps talking about supernatural politics outside his door on their way downstairs, or hearing Jackson’s booming laugh. He was used to being woken by Mike so they could play a game of cards or just talk about home. He didn’t like the quiet.

The curtains were open, ‘cause he’d forgotten to close them and there weren’t any vampires around him who would tell him off for it. So he knew it was pretty late in the morning when he saw the Sun rise, but he didn’t mind it anymore. He was exhausted – like, _really_ , exhausted. All he wanted to do was to shut down his head and fall asleep.

That’d be pretty nice. Just having an off button on his head, knocking him out instantly. Maybe that was what happened when he saw Mike in his flat.

He heard someone walking down the stairs, past his room and downstairs. Then another pair of feet. Would that be LaF and Perry? Probably.

Then another. Yeah, that was Laura.

He fell asleep in the morning. He was getting used to ignoring the light. And he dreamed.

He didn’t really know where he was. He kinda wasn’t _anywhere_ , really. It was, like, a weird mixture of places he’d been to before – he could see the field behind his house next to him, and the pathway to his old high school if he turned right. And – this was the weirdest thing – he was in this in between place, like a meadow but without all the flowers. Just grass, yellow, dead grass. Everything had this hazy look to it, like he was caught in one of those summer music videos he liked to watch sometimes. It was just really weird. Kirsch wasn’t sure he liked it.

But it felt safe. So. Not a bad thing.

He tried moving – right foot first, then his left one. That worked, thank God, even if his footing was a bit wonky. He’d had too many dreams where he’d been stuck and couldn’t move anywhere. They were the worst.

Good, so moving worked. So what the hell was this about?

He looked down at himself, at his body – but that wasn’t normal. In fact, he nearly woke up with shock when he saw what the dream had made him. He was a painting, a literal painting. His skin and clothes had the smudged look of a paint, with brushstrokes. Where there wasn’t any clothing, he could see some of his insides – the bones and stuff. And dude, that was so _cool_. He wasn’t dying or anything, either, so that made it even cooler.

When he brought his hand to his face, his fingers came back smudged again in some places. And in other places, they went through his whole head. He wasn’t finished, then. Which was freaky.

Dude, was he Carmilla’s painting? He _loved_ that painting!

That would mean his heart would be bleeding, though. He urgently stared down at his chest – and yep, his shirt was blood-stained. Hm. He didn’t feel it, though – he didn’t feel any different than what he’d felt when he was awake. Damn, his dream mind was way too cryptic for him.

He still wanted to see his whole reflection, just to see what he really looked like. So, he stumbled around trying to find a pond or a lake somewhere – or even a mirror; that would’ve been okay – before getting onto the pathway to his old high school. There’d be mirrors in there, right? But when he tried to go there, he just kept ending up in the meadow. He frowned and tried again – but nope, still in the meadow. Annoying.

Okay, so what about the field? There was definitely a pond there; he remembered that from his _real_ life. Determined, he set off to the field, and finally – _finally_ – found the pond he’d been searching for. He got down on all fours (all that walking in the heat had made him tired), but didn’t get the chance to see his reflection.

“Kirsch, you look like a dog trying to get water,” someone laughed behind him.

 _Danny?_ He got up on his feet and whipped around, both embarrassed and surprised. But she was there – tall, ginger, smiling. She didn’t look like she’d been taken hostage or anything.

“Danny!” he yelped, and ran forward to tackle her into a hug. She laughed and hugged him back.

“Easy, boy,” she grinned.

“I thought – you’re – the clan—” he stuttered, letting go slightly to look at her properly.

“Yeah, I know, I know,” she dismissed, letting go of him with one of her hands to wave it about. “I escaped, but I’m going back to fetch Omega. But that’s not important right now.”

“Not important?” Kirsch retorted. “Dude, are you _kidding?_ Of course it’s important! You two could be hurt, _Danbeschützer!_ I don’t want you guys to be hurt, it’d kill me.”

“Calm it, frat boy, we’re not going yet. Got our whole lives ahead of us first.”

His soulmate was soft in his arms. Warm. Comforting. Despite half of his mouth being just two very crude lines of red, he opened his mouth into a dazzling grin. And he was really, really happy. She was here, she was safe.

“Are you sure?” Kirsch could barely get the words out.

“Totally. Besides, I need to finish my competition. I can’t miss that, can I?”

He chuckled. “Definitely not, bro. I wrote down a few suggestions for some names, by the way.”

“I’ll look at them when I can.” She slid her hands away from him and they took a respectful step back. Danny came away with paint stains on her clothes.

This was so nice. He wished he could stay in this forever.

Then she spoke again. “You’re worried about us, aren’t you?”

He nodded. That was an understatement.

“You don’t need to be, Wilson. We’re alive and – well, the vampires aren’t exactly hospitable, but we’re managing. But I know we’re going to get out of this, okay? I’ve got a little plan worked out in here –” she pointed to her head “– and we’ll get back to you. You’ve just got to have a little faith. Trust us, trust Carmilla and Laura, and trust yourself. Everything will be normal again.”

“But – everything feels so wrong,” he admitted. “You’re not here, and Mike’s not here, and I can’t even look at Jordanna without thinking I’m gonna tell her and – and it just feels so wrong.”

“Who said life was easy?” she shrugged. “Look, it’s just three days. You’ve survived worse than this, Wilson. You have it in you.” Then, surprisingly, she knocked his arm with her fist and smirked, “It’s the wolf in you. Just trust it. And then we can get back to arguing again.”

Kirsch frowned; the colour was starting to leak out of the meadow. Things were turning grey, except Danny. She hadn’t changed at all.

“It’s three days, Wilson. Hold on ‘till then,” she whispered, suddenly close to him – and then she was gone, and the paint was starting to melt off his fingers and his face, and—

Kirsch woke up with a gasp, sitting straight in his bed. Oh God, he’d been melting, he’d been _dying!_ But he was okay. He was okay. He was solid, not a painting. He was… still in the safe house, great. The cold, empty safe house with its awesome decorations and big lack of werewolves.

The realisation that his conversation with Danny wasn’t real came crashing down on him, and he rested his head in his hands. It had felt so real. It had been so _easy_ to talk with her. It had been so relaxing, so comforting. And the damn thing wasn’t even true.

But maybe dream Danny had a point. It was only three days, right? And – he checked the clock on his phone, stretching over to the bedside table – he’d already got halfway through the first day of the three. He could work with that. He could wait to see Danny and Jackson and his bro again, if it meant that things really would work out.

It looked like he’d really needed that dream.

Automatically, he looked down at his chest. There weren’t any bloodstains on it; his heart was still intact. That was relieving.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t _really_ bleeding. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t aching right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular updates every Tuesday and Saturday!
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	21. She's the Tear in My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle was so close, and Carmilla was a world away. Not physically, but it was too much for Laura. What she discovered, though, was not what she had intended to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This bout of writers' block was probably the most infuriating I've had for a while. I was literally staring at my Word document, willing myself to write... but the words were just painfully and glaringly absent. However, I managed to eradicate it, so the new chapter is here! I'm really sorry for the week-long wait, but this chapter is fairly pivotal. So, have fun!
> 
> Chapter title taken from Tear In My Heart // Twenty-One Pilots.

“You are aware you cannot force your way out of this? A decree is absolute, a decree is final. Your priorities must align with ours, now.”

“I know this, Mr Lawrence.”

And yes, Carmilla did. But she did not like it.

She was not at all surprised that the Lawrences in front of her had found their way to the safe house. She was not at all surprised that they hardly viewed the journey as laborious. They were werewolves; they were built for such things. Despite this, the vampire wished they had got confused or lost along the way. (It was quite easy to do so, despite it being a short walk; it often proved to be a treacherous journey. In fact, Laura had had to give everyone very precise instructions just to make sure the Dimwit Squad did not get lost in the forest next to the mansion.)

To put it simply, she did not want them to be here. She wanted to be rid of their scents, their piercing gazes she’d got used to in the older man’s offspring. She wanted to be rid of what they were demanding of her, because the proposition – or, rather, the order – they’d given her admittedly tore up her conscience.

To fight, or not to fight?

Carmilla Karnstein was not a coward. _Mircalla_ Karnstein may have been, perhaps, but she was a different person now. That was not to say she did not get afraid of certain situations (after all, she _had_ beenhuman, once), but that did not translate to cowardice. However, she immediately knew that the Lawrences suspected her of this when the order had slipped from Mr Lawrence’s mouth. Naturally, she detested this idea, but her reasons for not wanting to partake in the battle were complicated.

Firstly, and the most visible reason to the men in front of her, was that she would be separated from her soulmate. Mr Lawrence had acknowledged that this would be hard for Laura to take, but the journalist was not the only one who would risk losing their soulmate in this battle. He told Carmilla to remind her that most of the werewolves fighting would have soulmates waiting back at home – or they would even be on the battlefield with them. No matter what happened, some people were going to be devastated by the outcome.

Her other reason was entirely to do with the clan. Of course, Carmilla hated it. She despised the people there and their view on leaving. She, however… she still had ties to Mother. Mother had been the one to bring her up in the world of eternal darkness and feasting; she had been the one to build up Carmilla’s strength and pride and her self-esteem. Through some of her darkest moments, Mother had been there. For all that she’d done, the illustrator was not quite sure if she would welcome news of her Mother’s death or not.

To see it herself, to do it herself… would she be able to? To see the eyes of the vampire who had lovingly gazed at her, her own creation.

Carmilla needed time to think about this. She couldn’t be expected to kill her own Mother unwaveringly. She was as in touch with her emotions as any of these werewolves, so she could not understand why the werewolves had ignored that.

They’d eliminated the chance of the illustrator avoiding the death of her Mother. She was to be enlisted as a special group to corner and execute the clan leader; it was entirely possible that Carmilla was going to be expected to kill Mother with her own hands. Thus, they ensured that they would have Carmilla right where they wanted her – firmly on their side.

There was no doubt in her mind that she was on their side. She would just have preferred if she wasn’t the one killing the woman who had loved her when she’d found it hard to love the monster she’d become.

She adjusted her hands on the circular little table again and tried to come up with another topic of conversation that would delay Mr Lawrence and his son further.

She’d come up from the tunnels for this. Tonight, the remnants of the Dimwit Squad had gone down to close them off, and she’d been pulled along by her girlfriend to help guide them. LaFontaine had procured a map of the tunnels from somewhere – the illustrator dared not think about it – and suggested they follow it. However, when they’d climbed inside the tunnels, the flashlights had only made the inscriptions on the ancient paper impossible to decipher; therefore they’d relied on the vampire’s history with the building and her supernatural powers to get them to the places they needed to go. As this was their first foray into the tunnels, they hadn’t brought anything to block the tunnels with yet.

It had been boring. Hopelessly boring. It was dark – even darker for the humans – and conversation was stitled. The ginger agent tried to analyse every rock sample they could find (the vampire was contemplating slicing their throat if it meant they would stop exclaiming at every new wall they discovered), and the ex-frat boy was trying his hardest to make this a fun outing. But there was nothing _fun_ about the excursion, nothing that could ever be. They had been trapped underground with no light; that, in Carmilla’s mind, could never be a pleasant experience.

Laura had realised this and had clutched the vampire’s hand for most of the way. Despite the tension between the two, it had been exactly the thing she’d needed. Because of it, she had been able to form perfectly coherent thoughts and had led the humans away from another path (covering up her actions with the lie that it had already collapsed), in case any of them needed to use it in the future. The underground network here was vast; the possibility of the vampires selecting the right tunnel to get to the safe house was miniscule.

It had been just after that lie that Carmilla had caught the scents of Lucas Lawrence and his father. (Lucas had been the one to capture her a year ago; they’d had a subsequent fight, so Carmilla’s brain had remembered his scent well.) Instinctively, she was aware that they would be there to talk to the vampire. As they had already been quite close to an opening into the mansion, the illustrator had run on ahead to meet them.

That was how she’d taken in this news without the humans being close by. No Laura to protest, no other opinions to get in the way. And that, Carmilla supposed, made the ordeal much smoother for the werewolves. The news she’d received once they’d been invited in was less than satisfactory. Unaware that Michael was back in the clan, Mr Lawrence announced that the two vampires had been ordered to fight in the upcoming battle against the _Lophiiformes_ clan. The Werwolf Ausschuss für Osteuropa recognised that Michael and Carmilla had a part to play in this elaborate dance of revenge and defence. Therefore, they were to show their allegiance by coming to the fight. Mr Lawrence, being the son-in-law of two of the werewolves on the Committee, had come by personally to relay this news.

It wasn’t news she’d received well. She could only hope to delay this a little longer.

“You are aware that Michael isn’t here?” she asked.

Lucas – who was every bit the carbon copy of his father – put down the golden goblet and looked at her, eyebrow quirked.

“Where would he be?” the younger werewolf responded. “Has he left us?”

She shook her head. “I can’t imagine he would ever do that,” the vampire answered. She couldn’t believe she was speaking so highly for Michael. But someone needed to. “His alliance is firmly with the wolves. He has no such bonds with the vampires in the clan – or, indeed, Mother. He has, in fact, agreed to be a double agent for the rest of us.”

“When did you last contact him?” Mr Lawrence questioned.

“Kirsch spoke to him a couple of days ago. We haven’t heard from him since, and we don’t expect to. Vampires leaving the clan even temporarily would not sit well with Maman this close to the battle.”

“So you don’t doubt his intentions?”

“Why should I? He appeared to have lost everything when he became a vampire. All he ever wanted is with his human life. He would not hesitate to preserve what he can of it. This is him fulfilling this desire.”

“What about you, Karnstein?” Lucas interrupted, still gazing at the vampire.

“My allegiance is with the wolves,” Carmilla nearly snarled at him. It was no secret that Lucas had harboured a secret dislike for her.

“But you’re reluctant to fight.”

“My ties with the clan run much deeper than Michael’s. I am much older than him, and so have seen a… different side to Mother,” she explained quietly. “I would not be comfortable with being the one to kill her myself.”

It took a lot for her to even admit such things to Laura; this confession made her uncomfortable. But there was simply nothing she could do.

Mr Lawrence took a careful step closer to the vampire. Carmilla remained where she was, unflinching and exposed. “You can’t out of this. No matter what you may think, you don’t have a choice. If we tell you to kill her, you have to kill her. This decree is bound with the tradition of supernatural warfare and werewolf law. You’re our ally; you must comply with this too. I’m sorry, but you have no choice.”

Carmilla noted that he did not seem sorry. His jaw was taut, his eyes blazing. His posture was slumped, dejected – but his eyes held a fire that spoke of retribution and anger. The vampire knew why this was so.

Two of his children, Danny and Jackson, were currently in the hands of the _Lophiiformes_ clan. After losing his fostered child to the clan, two were at risk. And he believed Carmilla was partly to blame – for not being there, for not fending the vampires off. In any other situation, she would defend herself. In any other situation, she would not let this man get away with those thoughts.

Alas, they were allies, and Carmilla was steeped in metaphorical debt to the Lawrences. They, after all, had allowed her to settle on their lands, despite her being of the _Lophiiformes_ clan. Furthermore, they had allowed _Michael_ to settle on their lands. This favour they had given Carmilla was yet to be returned; this, she knew, was her way of doing exactly that.

She could do nothing. She could only agree to the terms. She could only agree to kill her Mother. She reminded them, of course, that she had no such qualms about killing the other vampires – and that mollified them partially – but they were still wary of her.

They shouldn’t have been. After this battle – if things went right – Mother would either be dead or be on the run. The clan only existed as of this moment because the werewolves had underestimated her power as a vampire; they would not make that mistake again.

Fortunately, they left before the Dimwit Squad arrived. Laura instantly walked up to her and grasped her hand. Her presence, for the first time, was unwanted. The vampire had to lie about this – if she told the truth, the journalist would surely insist to accompany her so she could save the vampire in the heat of the fighting – and she felt dirty for doing so. But it had to be done.

“What was that about, then?” her soulmate wondered, eyes cautious but trusting.

“They came to address battle plans, and suggested I went with them,” the vampire lied. “I refused. I’d prefer to stay away from the carnage.”

The smile on Laura’s face was small, but it was there all the same. Laura would worry less if her soulmate was not fighting. (And yet it was perfectly fine for her to do the opposite?)

Carmilla did not like how smoothly she had lied.

* * *

 

LaFontaine prided themselves on being able to get along with all of the artists which they represented, but they were most proud about how well they knew Carmilla.

Carmilla was a tricky woman indeed. Intensely private, yet exposed through her art. She was snarky, sarcastic, biting, pretty much 24/7 – but if someone got to know her, there were possibly a few undertones of affection if she liked them. They were hard to spot, but anyone used to the vampire’s presence could pick them up if they looked for them.

Other things about Carmilla were hard to recognise, too. LaF had discovered after spending time with her that her body language was what gave her away, not her expression (nor her words). It had taken months of careful observation, but now they were tuned to the vampire’s emotions.

LaFontaine was a scientist. Of course they were going to observe things. Often, they did it without even thinking about it. So this was how they recognised Carmilla’s agitation after they’d all returned from their tunnel trip.

They had to admit, the vamp was careful about this stuff. They knew she rarely showed emotion to people outside of her close friends. Laura received the most of it, obviously, but she was always going to – she never had to get used to Carmilla’s little tell-tale signs before the illustrator actually warmed up to her. They were soulmates; they understood each other on a different level. (LaFontaine could vouch for this – their connection with Perry was the deepest and best thing they’d ever experienced. And LaF had been caught short by science gone weirdly wrong a few times.)

But Laura didn’t recognise the signs. Laura didn’t see the vampire’s fingers twitching on her leather-clad thigh, agitatedly drawing patterns and shapes and talking as clearly to LaFontaine as Carmilla would have if she’d opened her mouth.

Carmilla needed to get out. She needed to draw. Something had happened – possibly while the vampire was gone? – and she needed to be alone to let her emotions out.

LaF was more than happy to let her do this, of course – aside from the caring thing, the more art Carmilla made, the more there was to sell – but the vampire was trying to act like nothing had happened. She was sitting on the lounger, reading a thick book on – no, LaFontaine wasn’t even going to ask. They doubted they would understand it anyway.

Everyone else was dispersed across the room. The illustrator had the lounger; Perry was by the fire, sharpening stakes and dipping them in the concoction her partner had devised for that purpose; LaFontaine was perched on one side of the sofa, staring intently at their boss; Kirsch had picked up a book from the “unread” pile and was flicking through it from the middle of the sofa; Laura was positioned on the other side of the sofa, resting her head on the arm. And she was talking a lot, but that usually happened.

“So, we know how many secret openings there are. What do we do with them, do we block them up? Or – or we could use them to get to the battle, maybe?” she was whispering.

Carmilla put her book down, making all four of the witnesses jump. “You’re not going to the battle,” the vampire told her with conviction but no growling. “I… passed up the chance to go to the fight so I could be with you.”

LaF’s eyebrow arched at that statement, but they didn’t say anything.

“Carm, we’ve already talked about this,” the journalist pleaded. “We need to get Danny and Jackson. You could come to, you could help save her. You don’t have to fight if you don’t want to.”

The illustrator smiled bitterly, “You don’t get it, do you? You just ignore everything I say.” She deposited the book onto the bookshelf and started stalking off.

“Carm?” her soulmate wondered, full of concern. The tiny gay journalist got up to move but was stopped by the vampire’s words.

“ _Don’t_ follow me, Laura.”

So they just stayed there, silent. LaFontaine knew something had gone wrong, but they weren’t close enough to Carmilla to ask. They doubted she’d tell them if they were, anyway.

None of them wanted to see the couple arguing, but things were always a lot trickier when it came to Carmilla.

The fire continued warming the room, the light dancing off the different surfaces. Apart from Laura sitting back down again, no one made the effort to find the vampire. Because – well, what could they do?

* * *

 

The dream may have convinced Kirsch to sit tight and wait for the battle, but it was still hard. Of course he was gonna find this hard – every hour that passed was an hour without three of his favourite people.

But he hadn’t been expecting Carmilla to be acting as weirdly as she was. For a start, she kept avoiding everyone – staying in her room, going into the tunnels. She wasn’t great at talking in the first place, but she was acting so cold around everyone. Everything felt out of place, like the world had been turned on its side. She wasn’t even talking to her _girlfriend_ – and that was just wrong. Laura deserved to know what was happening. Cutting her off was just, like, _rude_.

Kirsch tried to ignore it, he did. But talking wasn’t happening much in here, anyway, so it wasn’t like he could continue that again. Nah, he just tried reading again. He’d never usually read this much, but at this point it felt like the only thing he could do to stop getting bored or going mad. (Man, this vamp vs wolf thing really _had_ changed him.) And – even weirder – he was enjoying staying in one place for so long, just staring at words. Sometimes they didn’t make sense to him at all, ‘cause a lot of these books were super old, but he got the idea of what the writer was trying to put across.

He liked the books about werewolves the most. Kirsch had decided that, all in all, werewolves were pretty awesome. Vampires were pretty cool, too, but werewolves didn’t kill people just to get by – and they had, like, _three_ forms. He was reading about that now.

He really wished he was a werewolf sometimes. The things they could do – _damn_ , Danny and Jackson were lucky.

Right now, he was stretched out on that really comfy sofa, his head stuck in a book about werewolf biology. He’d skipped the really science bits (he was never gonna understand about the pheromones and chromosomes and stuff) and was going through the stuff about the forms. The three forms.

One was obvious enough, the human form. The second was the wolf form, where they turned into these huge wolves. He’d been surprised that they were easily as tall as him, but that just made it even more awesome. Huge wolves could do a lot of damage.

(He wondered what Danny looked like in her wolf form. Would her fur be as ginger as her hair? Or would it, like, look similar to normal wolves and their pack markings? He’d have to ask her as soon as he saw her again.)

And then there was the hybrid form – it was a totally terrifying mix of the other two. With practice, werewolves could become this huge man-wolf beast. They had a wolf head, paws for hands and feet, and a tail, but the rest of their body was much more like a human’s. Whatever damage could be done while in wolf form would be ten times as worse in hybrid form.

The pictures in the books sent a chill of fear running through his body, but at the same time he thought it was amazing. He really respected any werewolf who could control that side of them.

(He wondered if Danny could turn into that, too. Again, he’d have to ask her about that. Asking her to show him would be pushing his luck, though; he didn’t want to get killed if she lost control.)

He was just starting a new chapter on the effects the moon had on werewolves when LaFontaine and Perry started talking from their places in the room. (Not helpful – it was really hard to concentrate when other people were being loud around him.)

“What do you think Carmilla’s worried about, Perr?” LaFontaine wondered.

_The moon has a profound effect on the wolf kind, like it does on its animal counterparts. Whereas, for wild wolves, the moon provides light for the pack on their journeys out in the territory—_

“I can’t deny she’s acting… oddly,” Perry sighed. “But I don’t think it’s best to question her. You know she is with these things.”

“But she’s not even talking to Laura,” the scientist complained, and Kirsch lowered his book. “She always talks to Laura. I’m worried for her. She’s not being herself.”

“It’s not our business.”

“It’s going to ruin whatever peace we have here,” LaF responded. “That’s the last thing we need, right? I bet it’s something to do with the werewolves that came before we returned from the tunnels.”

“LaFontaine, it has nothing to do with us!”

“Doesn’t it?” Kirsch frowned. And then a thought occurred to him. “She could be, like, hiding something. LaF’s right; that’s not gonna help.”

The biochemist’s grin was huge; Kirsch smiled back. It was exactly what he needed to decide things for him. He was going to talk to Carm-sexy about it.

And he managed to. God knows how he did it, because she’d been in her bedroom all day. But he caught her before the day was out, and he didn’t let her go.

“Hey, Carm-sexy!” he shouted at her.

“Quit calling me that, frat boy,” she hissed, clutching a packet of blood.

“No,” he refused, standing in the doorway so she couldn’t get past him. Well, she could, because she was a vamp, but he figured she owed it to Laura not to kill her girlfriend’s friends, so she wouldn’t hurt him. “You’re gonna tell me why you’re acting super weird.”

“Am I?” she smirked, but he wasn’t gonna give in.

“Yeah, it’s upsetting the – uh, the kung fu of the place.”

“Feng shui,” she corrected, rolling her eyes. “It’s not your problem, Kirsch. Run along now.”

“Yeah, that. But seriously, dude, it’s not fun to see. You gotta tell us what’s happened, because we can’t have this now. It’s only a few days from the big fight, y’know, and we need to be working as a team, right?”

She laughed at him, then – it was super low (and quite attractive. But she was taken by his best friend). Still, it was pretty rude of her.

She was good at rude. The first time he ever met her, she was mean to him. She’d yanked him back – broken foot and all – into a tent somewhere and hissed at him about being the wrong journalist. And she hadn’t stopped since, really; he’d just got used to it. That was what she was like. But now it was just frustrating, ‘cause he needed answers and the vamp didn’t want to give them to him.

But then she suddenly got super sad. And he hadn’t been expecting that. He was expecting her to make a comment. Not this.

“There’s nothing I can do to change this, so cut the sentimental speech, lover boy. It won’t help Laura either way.”

And then she was gone, and Kirsch was just stumped.

* * *

 

Kirsch told Laura later that he’d tried to get Carmilla to talk, and she appreciated that, she really did. Kirsch was always looking out for others, and that was a trait of his Laura loved. She was so glad she’d found him at the _Styria Herald_ , and never stopped talking to him since.

And she appreciated the effort because what the vampire was doing was upsetting her. She was just flat-out ignoring everyone, even more so than normal. Whenever Laura had tried to talk to her, she’d got silence or a few syllables – but that was it.

It was a shock to her system. Her girlfriend didn’t admit to her feelings easily – but she didn’t shut Laura out, either. It unsettled her; the journalist felt like she was living in a parallel universe, where everything had just gone _wrong_. She couldn’t understand it, couldn’t understand what had happened to make things so different.

They were still sleeping in the same bed, but the bond between them had been stifled. It was just quiet, quiet even in their bedroom, and she didn’t sleep much because of it. She just watched the hands of the clock run in endless circles for a few hours before her eyelids _eventually_ drooped. Her soulmate was pale, unmoving next to her, brow furrowed and totally apart from Laura.

Unsurprisingly, she didn’t like it.

Unsurprisingly, she was determined to change it. Or at least _talk_ to Carmilla about it, because it was driving the journalist up the wall.

It didn’t help that the fight was so close now. All that she’d known so far was about to change again; she wanted more than anything to be next to the illustrator when it happened. She wanted know that her soulmate was going to be okay, that her friends were going to be okay. Whatever life threw at them as a result of the battle, she wanted the people she loved to be safe, secure, and happy.

And how could she do that if her own girlfriend refused to talk to her? Or understand her reasons behind wanting to go to the battle?

She wasn’t going to _fight_ , obviously. She was willing to take on any vampire that ran her way if she absolutely needed to, but she wasn’t going to go out there and slash through the clan herself. And she’d _told_ Carmilla this – she just wanted to rescue her friends! That was the right thing to do, and she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t go and they got hurt because of it.

The vampire should have known that, right? She knew Laura. Laura knew her.

Though maybe the journalist didn’t know her as well as she’d previously thought.

This was painful. This was never meant to get in the way of her relationship with Carmilla. And now that it had, things were a hell of a lot more difficult.

Still. She wanted to put things right.

So she did a Kirsch. She practically ambushed her girlfriend.

Okay, so, she knew that Carmilla had a habit of leaving her stuff everywhere. And she needed her blood – quite a lot, it seemed – so she put some in their bedroom for when she woke up. That was simple observation, and it played right into Laura’s hands; she stole the packets and put them in the kitchen, where she waited for the vampire to look for them.

It worked. Eventually. The journalist had been in there for half an hour and had downed three cups of hot chocolate when her soulmate wandered into the room, looking more broody than usual.

“Oh, perfect,” the vampire sighed when she spotted the look of conviction on her girlfriend’s face. “This was your doing, wasn’t it?”

“You bet it was,” Laura replied, quite pleased with herself. Before Carmilla could even think about escaping, she rushed past the illustrator and guarded the door so she couldn’t get away. “You’re not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.”

Carmilla’s trademark smirk played on her face. “Did you set Kirsch up to perform this last night? Because this is _awfully_ similar, sweetheart.”

The journalist shook her head. “That was all him. We’re all worried, Carm. Something’s not right.”

“Your powers of observation continue to amaze me.”

“Carmilla, don’t,” the vampire’s girlfriend whined, her hurt seeping through. “We need to talk about this. This is what lovers do – they talk about things. And I know communication’s not your strongest skill, but we’re so close to the battle and I don’t want this to fall apart before that fight because what if I never see you again because of it? I can’t stand the thought of—”

“As if that hasn’t been running through my mind, as well?” the vampire interrupted, moving swiftly to procure more blood. “Cupcake, all I’ve been saying to you is me doing just that. If you go to the battle, you’re gonna get killed. It’s not a hard concept to wrap your head around.”

“That might not be true, you know it! If I stay at the sides and – and if we don’t get spotted, we could rescue Danny and Jackson quickly! And then we could go home!” the journalist protested.

“Oh, sure, just wander onto the battlefield as if you’re invisible. It’s not about being _seen_ , it’s about being scented. You’re human; you’re exactly what the _Lophiiformes_ clan want to start the war. Once they smell you, they will let nothing get in the way.” She took a sip from the blood packet and continued, “The fact that you’re linked to me makes it an even more enticing prospect. It’s the ultimate revenge; killing the soulmate of a vampire who betrayed you. You’re the prize, sweetheart, and I’m not letting them get it.”

“You could protect me,” Laura blurted. “I trust you. You’re a badass vampire, you can fend them off, right?”

“Against three or more vampires? No. A-Assuming I’m even there in the first place. This isn’t about trust, either.”

“But what about the werewolves?” she tried.

“They are mortal. Vampire slayers by nature, yes, but mortal. They might not be able to protect themselves, never mind a human who’s – I’ll remind you – not supposed to be there,” the illustrator responded without much intonation in her voice.

“They’re trying to prevent human deaths, though.”

“Which is why they’ll be enraged if you’re in a five-mile radius of the battlefield.”

“They’d understand the reasons for us being there!” She was shouting now. She always did that when she got frustrated; Carmilla wasn’t letting her in. There was no way she was going to listen to the journalist.

“They wouldn’t _care_ ,” her girlfriend retorted, and she shut up. “You’re the very thing they want to keep away from this mess of a situation – do you think they’d really allow you to hop around the battlefield because you feel guilty for one of the Lawrences dying? Most of the wolves never even knew of SJ. That’s without talking about freeing the ginger puppies. They’re flesh and blood; I’d be surprised if they hadn’t already attempted a rescue mission. Your presence would ensure a vampire victory, and all because you wanted to be the hero of the piece.”

Laura’s anger flared. That was definitely not what she wanted. She knew Carmilla was like this – she lashed out when someone put her in a difficult position. But that hurt. It wasn’t about her ego at all, it never would be. “I just want to help, is that so hard to understand?”

“Not when it endangers everyone else, sweetie,” the vampire responded, and those words had never sounded so condescending in Laura’s short life. Then her soulmate was talking to herself, eyes pinned on the wall above the tiny gay journalist. “I swear, Laura, if I see you there…”

This stopped Laura’s train of thought completely. She straightened her back against the door again and barked, despite the unsettling feeling of trepidation finding a home in her, “If you see me there? I thought you said you weren’t going?”

Her soulmate exhaled sharply through her nose and clenched her jaw. She'd snapped. “Fine. You asked what I was hiding from you all; I’ll tell you. The wolves came to draft me into the battle. I’m going to the fight whether I want to or not. I’m going to kill Mother whether I’m prepared to or not.”

The news made Laura’s heart drop to her stomach. No, no, this was _not_ good. The journalist had planned for Carmilla to be there by her side, not in the midst of the battle. The illustrator was going to be fighting against countless vampires! She could be killed, she could be captured, she could be—

“You can’t go,” she choked.

“I don’t have a _choice_. I’m indebted to the Lawrences, so I have to do what they say. Nothing I said to them can sway their resolve. Believe me, I would choose to stay with you every single time, but it is not a choice I can make.”

Tears were welling up in her eyes. All she could do was repeat the words, “You can’t go.”

“I can,” Carmilla responded instantly. “You can’t. You _will_ die out there. There’s no question about it.” Her eyes lingered on Laura’s weak grip on the doorknob; in an instant she was standing in front of the journalist, eyes careful. Her hand reached to take the journalist’s own hand off the doorknob. Laura couldn’t think to do anything other than comply.

She felt the chaste kiss on her cheek, but she didn’t reciprocate it. She couldn’t. She was still furious, Carmilla was still angry at her, and she was still numb from the news.

“You have to stay away from the fighting. You can’t let this end in war,” the vampire told her as she opened the door behind Laura. Her voice was as strong and as cold as steel. “If you don’t… I don’t know what we will be.”

Laura felt her absence like a slice to the stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular updates every Tuesday and Saturday!
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	22. Don't Forget About Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps one of the worst feelings ever is to see your laptop die in front of you when you're one paragraph away from finishing a chapter and not being able to charge it. That was the worst. Anyway, it's charging now, so you can read the new chapter, on the 1 year anniversary for Carmilla!

The battle was happening tonight.

That was a scary thought.

There were so many things that could happen tonight. Laura always preferred to look at the positive things in life, and tonight’s outcome was no exception. The werewolves could win. The vampires could lose. Carmilla’s Mother could die. Danny and Jackson could be rescued, be safe and at home. Michael could return to Kirsch. Carmilla could survive.

There were the opposites of these things, of course. And more. But Laura had no idea if these would happen or not; she was flipping a coin and hoping that it landed on heads, wishing for the outcomes to provide a future and not an unchangeable past. But she could not predict if the coin landed on heads or tails, and odds were more or less 50/50. There could be a few losses – a few but significantly horrible losses – despite the wins they would achieve.

Her stomach turned at this. Whichever combination she received, it was going to hurt.

Then, at least it was extremely unlikely for a coin to be flipped and balance on its side. The options were usually wholly positive or wholly negative. Not a bit of both, right?

She hoped to high heaven that she didn’t get a balancing outcome. To see Carmilla come home but not be able to be with her. Soulmates aside, they’d landed themselves in a painfully difficult situation.

No, perhaps this was more to do with Laura.

The vampire had disappeared after their argument. Her decidedly more vulnerable and tear-stained girlfriend didn’t know _how_ – they would’ve noticed Carm stalking out of the house, surely? – but what mattered was that she was gone and the last words she’d spoken to Laura had put their relationship in danger. And the journalist hadn’t been able to say goodbye.

They could be the last words she heard her soulmate say to her.

No. It wouldn’t happen. Laura banished that thought out of her head completely (or tried to, anyway). She was going to be… she was going to be positive about the situation. Pessimists never got anything achieved. She was going to be positive.

Their argument – they’d both been wrong. She knew that now. And if the illustrator had just stayed for a few more moments, they would’ve been able to talk it out, instead of shouting at each other. They could have come to a decision, and then Laura wouldn’t have to wander around the ancient mansion like a child after experiencing a nightmare. She didn’t have a knitted blanket with her, but the luxurious duvet was doing a fine job right now.

Carmilla was wrong about Laura wanting to be a hero of the piece. Even now, she rolled her eyes. Definitely _not_. She didn’t care about looking like a hero, she literally just wanted her friends to be okay. She felt a cold tremor shoot through her at the idea of her friends being mishandled by the _Lophiiformes_ clan (she didn’t know what they’d done to them and that terrified). Was it a crime to want to save people? Was it a crime for it to occupy you, become your sole goal? She hadn’t imagined it would be, before she’d met Carmilla.

It was probably out of spite. But whatever, it still hurt.

Laura thought their differences had changed now; she saw why the vampire was so frightened about Laura going to the battle. The journalist felt it too, now – that slick fear, clutching at her insides and grasping at her throat. The idea of her girlfriend going off to fight vampires – vampires as old as, or older than, Carmilla herself – made the tears threaten to flow again. She could be killed, and Laura would lose the one person she would protect at all costs.

Why couldn’t she stay? She couldn’t do that to them. She couldn’t.

She had.

She brought up the duvet to her face again and tried to block out the morning sun. Staying away from sunlight could make her thoughts flutter away into nonexistence, possibly.

Except that didn’t work. Ugh.

The journalist was still sure that their sides weren’t _completely_ the same. Laura _wasn’t_ going to fight, unlike Carmilla. Laura _wasn’t_ going to put herself in front of vampires. The risk increased the closer she got to the _Lophiiformes_ clan, yes, but she wasn’t going to be _defenceless_. Carmilla was going to be up against multiple vampires. It was different.

Still terrifying for the both of them.

She wondered where Carmilla was now. Was she with the wolves? Where were they headed? What part of the Alps? How was she feeling? Was she talking to others, or was she just hanging around in the background, scowling at anyone who tried to get close to her?

Laura could imagine the vampire sitting there, on her own, gazing down at her wrists while she absent-mindedly adjusted her thick, black bracelets. She could imagine her raven hair getting dusted with snowflakes – no, she would have protected herself from the sunlight. Either way, she wouldn’t be smiling. Wouldn’t be saying much of anything at all (if she even had someone to talk to.)

It was such a sad picture.

If the journalist was there with her – oh, God, what _wouldn’t_ she do? She’d hold the vampire’s hand, watch the way her long, deft fingers slid easily through her own. She would squeeze Carmilla’s thigh, feeling the bones and muscle in the toned leg of hers, just to reassure her that everything was fine. She’d lift her girlfriend’s head up, gaze at the way her obsidian hair flowed perfectly down from her head (even if it was tucked into a hood), watch as a smattering of snowflakes floated lazily onto the black strands. She’d capture the illustrator’s jaw, feel the sharp curve of the bone; she’d possibly place her lips on it. Or Carmilla’s mouth.

It was one of Laura’s favourite parts of her. When Carmilla’s mouth tucked up ever so slightly in an indication of a smile, it was met with a huge beam of her own; it was expressive even if the expressions were minute themselves. She liked it best when she felt it on her own skin, however – anywhere, everywhere, it all felt fantastic. She remembered that one night, after her soulmate had drawn that picture of the panther – that had been the pinnacle of ecstasy, like unlocking the gates of heaven. She’d never wanted that night to end; she hadn’t wanted to fall asleep next to Carmilla, their bodies caked with sweat and glowing with satisfaction. But she’d told herself they could have that again.

They hadn’t since.

If she was sat with Carmilla right now, she’d try to distract her (because that was _definitely_ what she needed to do herself, immediately). She’d rabbit on and on about she once got the opportunity to join an Alps rescue team so she could write an article about them – and, unsurprisingly, she’d nearly got herself trapped and in need of rescuing herself. And the vampire would laugh and throw a comment at that, and Laura’s insides would melt at the sound.

If she was with Carmilla, she would hold her close and press herself against her warm body. She would burrow her head into the crook of her soulmate’s shoulder, and she’d wait for her to match the human’s breathing. Perhaps they’d sit like that, silent, for a long time, watching the day go by – or perhaps they’d still talk. Either way, she’d be there to comfort her girlfriend.

Either way, it was just her imagination.

Laura sighed. This really wasn’t helping anything. It just made her need for Carmilla more apparent. And – honestly? She didn’t need any more pitying looks thrown at her.

She could do this, yeah? She could.

Her huff of frustration was probably heard from downstairs.

She wanted to listen to Carmilla, but she was entirely torn. She wanted to obey her girlfriend’s command and actually stay at the safe house – stay _protected_ – while Carmilla chucked herself into the worst of the fighting. (Her stomach flipped uneasily at the last part of that sentence.) But she also wanted to continue like that had happened; she wanted to get Danny and Jackson out of there and get them to safety, too.

And she wasn’t the only one who was still insistent in going. She wasn’t surprised about Kirsch – death seemed a little less important now his soulmate and her brother were in danger. Laura figured he’d actually go up against Carmilla’s Mother herself if it meant rescuing those two. LaFontaine, she _was_ a little more surprised about. They really, really wanted to try out their stakes, to see if they could work. They’d even been talking about making a profit out of it. And – of course – Perry was not going to leave their side. If she had to wrestle them from the very jaws of Hell, then she’d waste no time in doing it.

So, she would tell her soulmate – she didn’t really have a choice. The other three remaining occupants of the safe house were eager to go. (It wasn’t like she didn’t want to save Danny and Jackson, either; she was just mindful of the other factors.)

And that was that.

That was the reason why LaFontaine had a smile on their face when they barged into her room and ordered her to get ready. Which was not welcome at all. Nope, she was just settling down again after being woken up by an awful dream, when—

“Laura, time to stop wallowing, we’re going to the battle,” they yelled at the door.

She groaned and turned over in her bed, determinedly not getting up.

“Seriously, come on,” they persisted. “Danny and Jackson need us! And I’ve been developing something, too, it’s pretty awesome. But anyway, we’ve got a lot of walking ahead of us and none of us want you to get frostbite, so you need to get ready immediately or we’ll be too late. Got it?”

Her groan was louder this time, but she ever so slowly lifted the duvet and hauled herself upright.

“Damn, that glare could probably finish the vampires off faster than my stakes, Hollis.”

She made a noise of discontent. She wasn’t feeling conversation right now.

With a small smirk, but concerned eyes, they disappeared to rouse the other inhabitants up.

Laura perked up when she was breakfasted, showered and dressed, however. She was talking now, just not with her usual enthusiasm. As they gathered around the fire – which, thanks to Perry’s passion for carrying out domestic duties, was still burning as bright as ever – they decided to head for the Alps, to the closest point they could find. Then, they’d scope for likely spots to find the two warring sides – open spots, with plenty of space and plenty of viewing points. They were likely to be close to Silas, thanks to the Lawrences’ position, but not close enough to inflict terror on the town. (Once again, Laura was thankful her dad was on holiday right now. He’d be coming back soon, though.)

Just as they tied their scarves around their necks and adjusted their gloves, Kirsch chattering excitedly all the while, LaFontaine sprang out of nowhere with a plain bottle and squirted them all with a foul-smelling gas. The journalist did her best at trying not to choke on it, but it was way too difficult; it was probably the worst thing she’d ever smelled in her life. When she recovered, though, the stench was completely gone. Perry and Kirsch wore the same look at her; a mixture of surprise and peeved confusion.

“I made this after the stakes,” the agent grinned. “If it works – which I’m about… 97% sure it will do – then it’ll mask our scents from the vampires. I don’t know about the werewolves, but we don’t have to worry about the vampires flocking to us when we get there.”

A smile exploded on the journalist’s face (she was taken aback by that). “That’s _great_ , LaF! Thanks!” And her praise was genuine (when wouldn’t it be?) because that made this a _whole_ lot easier. She’d have that information to back her up when she next talked to Carmilla.

(If she got that chance.)

 _No, Laura, don’t you dare_ , she warned herself, while Perry responded to her partner.

Then the two ginger-haired people were moving off, and Kirsch bumped his arm into her side. “Hey, little L, I think it’s time to go. You okay there?”

She collected herself again. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure.”

Tall, wrapped up in winter clothes, and thin with worry. But he didn’t look intimidating, not one bit. His eyes shone with apprehension and anticipation. “Just tell us if you’re not, yeah?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

* * *

 

Yeah, Michael hated the clan. But that went without saying, really.

He’d hated it before; he’d felt like an outsider. He’d seen how the other vampires cast him disapproving glances and sneered at him. He’d always yearned for home, for the safety of his parents’ house.

But now?

He despised the _Lophiiformes_ clan.

A hand slapped on his face brought him out of his thoughts again; he whipped his head around for who the culprit was, but it was just a passing vampire, mocking him and his position.

Fine. He could deal with that. He didn’t stoop that low, anyway.

So, yes, he despised the _Lophiiformes_ clan, for their arrogance and superiority complex and their lack of honour. He despised how they belittled anyone different to them, demonised them – but especially how coarse their language was when talking about werewolves. If he hadn’t known that most vampire clans were actually respectable, likeable and tried to fit in with the times, then he might have been tempted to plaster their mocking to his own kind. But he knew these were especially cruel people – or especially dense, he couldn’t quite tell.

He thought a vampire was supposed to mature and develop intelligence once the years passed by. This clearly wasn’t the case for his clan.

He scoffed to himself. He was surprised, really, how these powerful and mighty vampires were awful at holding decent conversations. Not that they were talking to him, or the two Lawrences – but even amongst themselves, the conversation topics rarely strayed from the subjects of feeding, how best to deal with prisoners, and how much they hated werewolves. It was like they’d never attended a single class in their human life.

Was that how they’d been brought up in the vampire world? To be constantly thinking of the self, to be fearing others as the enemy? To disregard worldly intelligence in their quest for blood, and power, and importance?

Harking back to his days with Kirsch, he would have exclaimed, _“Dude!”_ , astounded. If it weren’t for the fact that last time he’d tried to speak out loud, he’d been slapped, of course.

Wonderful. No, truly. The service here was excellent.

That was when they had been marching towards the Alps – possibly Hoher Dachstein, he couldn’t be sure. They’d been blindfolded ( _again_ , and it was totally unnecessary!) and forced out of the cellar. Danny had been elated at the idea of being away from the stupid dripping, and Mike had been elated at the idea of not having the same ray of sunlight slicing his skin once more. Jackson hadn’t offered anything in the way of expression. (The traitor vampire was worried for him. He’d become decidedly mute.) However, the long day of marching had certainly been arduous, not helped by the fact that they had been doing it in the bright sunlight. Luckily, he’d been given a cloak with which to protect himself – only because he’d slow the procession down, he’d been informed – so he’d somewhat matched the rest of the clan. When he’d seen the Lawrences shivering (interspersed with twitching for Danny), however, he’d tried to give them a part of his cloak to retain some warmth, and nearly had it ripped off him in punishment.

They had passed civilisation a long time ago. They’d just kept marching, almost losing themselves in the steady rhythm of boots crunching on snow. At one point they’d had their blindfolds taken off, but Mike wasn’t sure when that had happened and found he didn’t care about it, either. The rhythm was hypnotic; it made it too easy to forget themselves and what they were marching towards.

Certain death, for most of them. Michael hoped the werewolves and he weren’t included in this.

(They probably were. The _Lophiiformes_ clan were not the type to forgive actions like his own.)

The scenery was absolutely beautiful, that had to be said. Austria had always captured Michael’s mind, and the Alps were no different. He’d always wanted to explore the mountains, experience their might and power for himself. He’d wanted them to be in totally different circumstances, of course – but he had to take what he was given, right?

It had given him something to think about that didn’t involve his impending death, after all.

Could he even call it death? Or just, a termination of existence? He wasn’t alive, in the truest sense of the word – his heart did not beat, his lungs did not scream for air. In others, however, he could be classed as alive – he felt, he saw, he remembered, he suffered. He was as much a human as Danny was, in that respect. As much as Kirsch was. That was where these pompous clans went wrong – aside from their hatred of werewolves, of course – they were all alive, they were all human.

It wasn’t that he was in denial, or trying to cling onto the past. It was just that his thoughts and feelings could not be classed as inhuman. He was as alive as everyone else, even if it was in an unconventional way.

He told himself that when his courage failed. Therefore, he’d told himself that countless times. It was often hard to believe, when his hunger took over and all he could feel was his desperate lust for blood. But it what he knew; his humanity mattered hugely to him. He had that to fall back on, when everything else failed. He was a raw being, moulded into something indestructible, but his capacity to feel had not diminished. If not in the physical sense, then in the emotional – and that, he believed, was the more important of the two.

It should have been important to everyone, Michael knew, but here it clearly wasn’t. Why feel remorse for your victims, why feel anything close to respect to the wolves, if there was no way to benefit from it? The humans were there to get blood; the werewolves had to be got rid of to expand territory. Everyone was an obstacle, and nothing else mattered.

The traitor vampire hated that way of thinking. He really did.

Those resilient thoughts had occupied his mind when it hadn’t been taken over by the numbing sound of the footsteps. They’d occupied his mind when they’d stopped, as a group. They’d vanished from his mind when he smelled the scent of the werewolves. It had been faint, ever so slightly irritating his nose, but it had been getting closer and closer with every passing minute.

He’d seen the shudders of fear roll through his fellow prisoners, and had felt one course through him, too.

If it hadn’t been real before, then that had changed his outlook on the situation completely.

The vampires, for the while safely concealed by a collection of trees standing just before the plain field laid thick with snow, had been given the order – presumably from Mother herself – to rest until the battle. Night had not yet fallen, dusk was not far off, and all of them could taste the tension on the air. All of them were jittery, for reasons of their own, but excited.

Danny, Jackson and Michael were less excited, and more… horrified. And exhausted. They’d walked too far, been told too many times to march faster.

Apparently (but predictably), the vampires didn’t care about that at all, because they’d commanded the prisoners to keep walking, away from the army. They’d complied, and found themselves climbing towards an excellent viewing point. Just when Jackson looked like he was about to collapse, they were stopped, and shoved down to the ground. Their bodies were turned to face the view below them.

They weren’t as high up as Michael had expected, but they were far away enough to see the whole battlefield before them. And below them, they could see the vampire camp, preparing themselves – and, far off in the distance, the werewolf army moving closer. His heart gave an awful twinge – would Carmilla be there? Would the humans be there? Or would they be safe? He had no idea, and that pained him.

Dusk was settling now. The sky blazed sun kissed orange and blood red, with a few highlights of rosy pink. Michael watched as the sun crawled back over the horizon, aware of his new scar burned into his cheek. An aching reminder of this period tumultuous period in supernatural history. He wondered how Kirsch would react to it.

All of a sudden, a call went out – from both sides – and the armies roused themselves to life. The three of them watched, with Wolfgang and his assistant guarding them, as they positioned themselves on the opposite sides of the flat expanse. Waiting for the call. Just waiting.

The last of the sun’s rays disappeared from the sky, bathing them in a sky as black as death. The stars were not out tonight, no brightness gazed down on them. The traitor vampire would have stared at them, looking for anything better to watch than the slaughtering that would be happening.

He would have stared at the stars like he was going to die. Which he was fairly certain he was.

Or have his existence terminated. Whatever suited his predicament the best.

Jackson snapped his head away; he couldn’t bear this. Michael didn’t blame him.

But Wolfgang wrenched his head forward again, snarling, “You’re gonna see this, mudpaw. You’ll watch your beloved die.”

All three of them stiffened.

And then the wolves howled; all at once, all of them, a great and formidable sound to anyone who heard. (Michael could hear the pangs of sorrow in the tunes, too.) With the call, both sides rushed forward, cries of rage ringing through the night.

It had begun.

* * *

 

Admittedly, Carmilla had never partaken in a battle herself. First of all, she was generally apathetic towards them; she could get her killing spree kicks from elsewhere. Secondly, her gender had obstructed her from doing so when she had been alive – and thirdly, her family probably would have been horrified at the idea of Mircalla going off to fight the Ottoman Empire. Therefore, it was safe to say that she had little experience of warfare, nor would she ever hope to have much.

Oh, she heard stories of battle – almost daily, in her life before her death. But didn’t everyone? They were paintings, plays, poems, books and songs dedicated to the very thing; it was as intrinsic to humanity as the ability to feel and to suffer. The world she’d lived in before her death had glorified fighting and violence as much as it could (though it had proved to do the same in her existence afterwards, but in a multitude of extra ways). Men, the world informed her, were born to fight, born to conquer. They were destined to pit one against the other in a desperate bid to seek power and glory. The sign of a good man was an unwavering submission to the ways of the battlefield; these men were heroes, even more so if they rested forever once being cut down in the heat of the battle.

Courageous, glorious, honourable. A man worthy of war was a man worthy of medals – or better yet, a crown. A man who rode into battle, spurred on by his righteousness, could only be viewed as favourable.

There was nothing favourable about this.

On second thoughts, that was a lie. She was getting quite some pleasure out of witnessing the insufferable clan members she used to know get their behinds well and truly whipped. Some of them she had not had the displeasure of meeting – Mother certainly had been busy in the time the illustrator had been gone. However, she knew that all of this could have been avoided if Mother had just sucked it up instead of harbouring a totally pathetic grudge on all werewolves. But no, they all had to endure this brutal, messy and chaotic carnage. What joy they had been entrusted.

Despite her overly apathetic nature, Carmilla couldn’t help but feel a little twinge of remorse every time she saw a werewolf fall, never to rise again. This was not their fight. They had foolishly come out of a sense of righteousness, and they had been felled as a result.

Lucas Lawrence was the exception. He had all but deserved that one. The fractured rib he’d given her had lasted for weeks, and his relentless jibes had grated on her nerves ever since she’d arrived to fight with the wolves. When she saw one of his limbs get ripped off, she felt nothing even remotely affectionate towards him. He’d never been a fantastic fighter, anyway.

She was surprised that Mr Lawrence, Lucas’ father, hadn’t cried out in grief from beside her – but then, she realised, he was scouting the battleground for something, and was therefore completely preoccupied. His heartbreak would come later, and she hoped she wouldn’t be around for that.

The specialist group themselves were positioned behind the lines of the werewolves, to the left, even after the Lawrences. When the two supernatural armies had crashed together in a frenzied mix of hatred and indignation, the group reserved for the murder of the vampires’ Mother had concealed themselves while inching forward. According to Mr Lawrence, as head of the group, they were looking for a sign, an indication of where Mother was and when it was the right time to pursue her. And so, they had not yet got their hands dirty. The only vampire of the group was certain that this would not last by any means.

Carmilla imagined that Laura believed she was on the front line. She imagined Laura was terrified of her girlfriend being pulled to pieces.

It served her right, for being so unrelentingly in her oblivious views. The illustrator did not regret what she had said to the tiny human. All the same, she wished to be close to the journalist, to let her know that things were going as planned.

So far, that was. The battle had barely lasted an hour. Each side was already cutting into each other. The screams and snarls of anger and pain had not diminished, not yet. Her ears were still receptive to such things, no matter how bored she was getting.

The fact was, this was always going to be an equal battle. Where the vampires could overpower the werewolves, the werewolves could compensate in numbers. The vampires were graceful, agile; the werewolves had a better understanding of teamwork and used this to their advantage. Both sides were impressive, and formidable. No side could win through fighting alone.

That was why it was important for the figureheads to be protected. The werewolves, despite this, were taking a gamble – some of the Committee were in amongst the fighting; Mr Lawrence had assembled the specialist group. However, Mother liked to survey her work, and would no doubt be curious as to how this was developing. She would not be very difficult to locate.

She would not be difficult to locate, but overpowering her? That was a different matter entirely. She was ancient, almost incomprehensibly so; she had seen so much, gathered so much power. She was an unstoppable force of nature, almost in a category of her own. Dangerous – in any way, any intensity – failed to describe her. It was simply not enough.

And would they be up to the task?

As she looked at the group members, she was not entirely certain. They were an altogether strange bunch; it was as if someone had extracted them randomly from a crowd. There was herself – small, thin, lithe, swaddled in black and layers of apathy. Leading the group was Mr Lawrence; tall, broad and very ginger, with a pensive expression on his face and a nervous twitch. After him was Wilma Lawrence, a girl who Carmilla would have thought transformed into a fox instead of a wolf. As well as her, there was Alex Dach, a person with sharp eyes and a severe bob for a haircut. Finally, Ronan Aussmacher, a silver-haired beast of a man with a surprisingly soft voice. All of whom, except for Carmilla, were itching to be involved in the fighting. They seemed to be rather keen on showing the vampires a piece of their mind – and the illustrator couldn’t exactly blame them. To say the _Lophiiformes_ clan were a nuisance was to gravely understate things.

Out of nowhere, a greying wolf shot out of the lines of fighting to create a mark upon the nearest tree it could find; it was deliberate and informative, and completed just in time before a vampire bit its haunch and dragged it back to the fighting. Carmilla was not sure if they would survive such an attack. Immediately, Mr Lawrence snapped his fingers and brought the group’s attention to him.

“This was the sign we were waiting for,” he informed them, and the vampire started to pay more attention. “It will tell us where we can find Lilita Morgan in the battleground. I need to trust someone to view it properly and report back on it in detail. Carmilla, would you be up for this?”

Carmilla crooked an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t Aussmacher here be a better choice?”

“His fur _does_ blend in with the snow,” Alex reasoned.

Ronan just shrugged in response.

“No, I want this to be done by the vampire,” Mr Lawrence argued. “She can play it off as scratching it off so we werewolves cannot figure out what it is.” He glanced at the carnage before us. “Go now; they are preoccupied.”

The vampire rolled her eyes, but set off anyway – at first, at a thoroughly uninterested walking pace, but then at a running pace once she got closer to the battle. It was a simple drawing, and she was back before even the group expected it.

“Just a circle with a triangle in the north-east,” she relayed monotonously. “The triangle had two lines scratched underneath it. That’s all it was.”

Danny’s father nodded in response. “In that case, I want you all to transform and follow me. You too, vampire.”

The werewolves transformed upon command, highlighting their differences even more. After some deliberation – and a warning growl from Mr Lawrence – she easily morphed into a panther, a rusty growl poised in her throat.

It was freeing to be like this, to give in a little more to her animalistic side. But she had a job to do – they all had a job to do; she could not indulge herself, not now.

Carmilla was a little bit irritated at the fact that she was easily visible against the snow, especially as a panther. The black fur she displayed was unusual, too – for, although the majority of the vampires had transformed into their animal selves, they were thin and scraggly and much wilder. She held such wilderness, but she carried an air of majesty, of grace.

She would be spotted from a mile off. If not by the vampires fighting, then Mother herself.

This was the thought that occupied her mind as they ran. Past the bloodstained snow, running more red than white. Past the sounds of bones being broken and flesh being ripped apart. Past the sight of the young and old, terror and torture lining their faces as they took their last breaths or saw their last sights. Past the corpses of the fallen, sometimes just bodies decomposing to make up for the time they’d spent as the undead, sometimes the bodies of animals and humans alike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular updates every Tuesday and Saturday!
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	23. Like I Did When Youth Stayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dimwit Squad (or what was left of them) made their way to the battle, guided by a helpful ally. Carmilla was nostalgic, melancholy, and apprehensive; all to be expected whilst on the battlefield, of course.
> 
> Chapter title taken from Weathered // Jack Garrett.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! I live! Despite common rumour, I still do exist. But recently I have become an A-Level student, which means I have no time to do any writing. At. All. And, I can tell you, it's the worst thing about being in sixth form.  
> That's why I had to disappear for a while and cut this chapter into two. There were going to be three more sections, but that would make this chapter far too long, and you'd never get an update otherwise. I don't want to keep you hanging - especially as we're so close to the end. I will be trying my hardest to get any free time even in the midst of all my homework, so please be patient with me.  
> Thank you for sticking around, if you do. It means a hell of a lot to me. I've missed this total control over the words I write for so long; I've missed this freedom. I hope my joy at writing again shows in the words you read below.

It was going well. As well as it could be, given the circumstances, but LaFontaine saw that as a success nonetheless.

So maybe they _had_ been wandering around the entrance to the Alps for a while before they’d found Lily. Maybe Laura _was_ a nervous wreck.

 _But_ – and this was important – no passing vampires had got wind of them, even though they were close to the battle. Which meant the perfume they’d concocted worked.

They’d tried to have as much faith in it as possible, but LaFontaine knew better than anyone that theoretical practice was not the same as _real_ practice. To have this working kept the smile plastered on their face, even when Laura’s and Perry’s had dropped long ago.

(Kirsch was just excited to be around werewolves. He really felt at home with them – which made sense, considering that his soulmate was one.)

LaFontaine could understand why Laura was so pale (apart from the biting cold, obviously). Carmilla was gone, she’d gone off to fight, and there was no telling whether she’d return after the battle or not. And, Laura had told her, Carmilla had put their relationship in question if the journalist came to the fight.

So Laura was risking the things most important to her for the chance that Danny and Jackson could escape. Which was brave, LaF thought. The illustrator and the journalist would definitely have to talk about that afterwards.

Talking always helped, they knew that. Even the most antisocial of people (naming no names, vampire or otherwise) could benefit from it. It had worked for LaFontaine – it had worked _so_ well – so there was no doubt that if the agent could reach an agreement with their wife on the issue of starting a family, then anyone could sort things out.

 _Satisfied_ didn’t even begin to describe how they felt about starting this next step with Perry. It had taken nights of arguing, tears welling up in eyes, and digging up painful pasts, but their belief in each other was unbreakable. Their bond was insurmountable. Arguing over such an important subject couldn’t break them, no matter how close it got. And they’d listened to each other. (It was a promise they’d kept ever since college, ever since they’d come out as LaFontaine and not Susan, even if it had provided a very rocky few months.) By listening, they’d met halfway.

Fostering was a definite possibility. So was adoption. Perry was insisting that they take parenting classes, that they _thoroughly_ research the subject. And LaF was only too willing to comply.

They were going to be _parents_. The thought of it sent sparks of excitement down their spine, widening the smile on their face. They clutched the editor’s gloved hand tighter and nuzzled their head into her shoulder.

Perry looked down, slightly mollified but confused. “What’s that for, sweetie?”

“Because I love you, Perr,” they grinned, and heard their wife’s breath catch on the way in. That never failed to happen when LaF mentioned how much they loved her. “I do. And I can’t wait for our future.”

“It’s not arrived yet; we’ve got to get through _this_ first,” Perry replied, worry constricting her throat ever so slightly.

“It’ll be okay, I know it will.”

“Yes, but for whom?” the editor whispered, gazing sadly at Laura.

Laura, who didn’t make any other noise apart from her boots crunching on the snow. Laura, who didn’t try to speak to the rest of them. She’d stopped talking as soon as they’d first heard the sounds of fighting.

(LaFontaine didn’t like to see her like this. Laura was usually so eager. They knew there was a fire in her eyes, which was more like the tiny gay journalist they knew, but Laura was shuffling in front of the married couple. The couple didn’t have that reassurance.)

Laura wasn’t the only one here at risk of losing the ones they loved. The rest of the group, Lily and Kirsch, were in the same boat in that respect. The werewolves were at risk as much as any of them, if not more so. Both Lily and Kirsch were heavily invested in freeing the prisoners, and were bonding over family love.  And Michael, having aligned his loyalties with the wolves, might as well have been considered as a werewolf also. (The agent just hoped that he was doing okay out there, in the midst of the fighting like Carmilla.)

Quite often, Lily kept transforming from human to wolf form, just to check their whereabouts with even more precision. She was very much appreciated in the group; without her, they probably would have been searching for the battleground for the whole day.

Lily had been late to the battle, serving as messenger to a reserve family of werewolves. She’d been running to the scene of the battle, when she’d come across the group of humans. They’d not long been out on their own (the cab driver could only go so far, after all), and were already feeling lost – when she’d appeared from the shadows and immediately went to take Kirsch’s cheeks in her hands. She was an excitable person, taller than most of them but still small by Lawrence standards.

“Let me guess,” she’d said, “you’re here to rescue Danny and Jackson?”

Laura and Kirsch had eagerly nodded.

“Hey, d’you think you can get us there, little Lawrence?”

Lily had deliberated, before shrugging to herself and answering with, “Seeing as I don’t fancy getting ripped apart by an annoyingly egotistical vamp, that sounds like a good idea. They might not be easy to locate at first, but they won’t be too far away – and the vampires will need everyone they’ve for the fighting.” She’d spun around to face the rest of them. “You’re armed, aren’t you? Or am I going to have to protect four humans as well as myself?”

At that moment, LaFontaine had whipped out their bag and brought it to their front; they’d opened it up in front of the werewolf, proudly displaying the stakes they’d prepared.

“You really think we’d walk into a war without any self-protection? Oh, _and_ –” they’d produced their anti-vampire perfume, then, worn at their hip thanks to a strap around the shoulder. They’d wrestled it up to Lily’s face and sprayed her completely without warning. (And why did people always cough when they smelled it? LaF had _definitely_ smelled worse.)

“Jesus!” Lily had wheezed. “What the _fuck_?”

“Masks your scent to vampires,” the scientist had explained. “We’re prepared, don’t worry.”

Once Lily had got her breath back, she’d started leading the way to the battle, starting a conversation with Laura about life as a university student. Laura had only been too happy to talk (anything to stop thinking about the battle, LaF guessed), and Kirsch had jumped in, talking about honourable fraternities. Immediately, LaFontaine and Perry had gone off into their own world, with the curly-haired ginger still fretting quietly and the short-haired ginger doing everything they could to calm their wife down.

And that’s how the walk had unfolded – long, tiring, and bitterly cold, with small talk peppered in between bouts of silence. Lily regularly transformed from her human to wolf form, making sure they were going in the right direction. She spent her time as a wolf trotting vigilantly, ears swivelling and nose twitching. She didn’t need to check so much; the cries of slaughter were only getting closer.

The stillness was thicker, when it settled. But taller journalist of the two was intent on quizzing Lily about every aspect of werewolf life possible as he walked (well, limped slightly). LaFontaine, being the budding biologist they were, tried to listen in on their conversations a few times, but Perry was still jittering nervously beside them. So the silence was regularly punctured by the sound of LaF’s kisses on the editor’s cheek.

But now they’d arrived at the battleground, and had to be completely silent and hidden to get past the vampires ahead of them. Kirsch was trying his best to _not_ be clumsy, but he didn’t succeed all that much – and Laura wasn’t much better, either. (The darkness certainly wasn’t helping things, but they _were_ possible catalysts for a full-on supernatural war and all.) Honestly, the agent was surprised they didn’t get seen at all.

(They’d be okay, though. They had Lily to protect the four of them. And stakes. Lots of stakes. They were all wielding them now; Laura kept looking down at hers with a soft frown on her face.)

“Oh, my God, I see them!” Lily yelped, putting all attention on her. LaFontaine hadn’t even registered that she’d transformed again, but that wasn’t important now. What _was_ important was getting their friends back.

(And maybe staking a vampire or two.)

“What? Where?” Laura sprang into action, straightening her (admittedly short) spine immediately. “Where are they?”

Lily pointed over to a ridge, away from the fighting. At first, they could only see a few figures at the edge – _That’s got to be five people_ , LaFontaine told themselves, their brain instantly going into work mode – but their eyes adjusted and they could all see who was guarding and who was being held.

Two kidnappers.  Three captives.

Two werewolves. Three vampires.

The three captives were forced down on their knees, like the damned waiting for the execution; the jailers forcing their heads to watch the battle. The rescue party below them could make out the tufts of ginger, and the prowling figures of the vampires.

And… was that—?

“…Michael?”

Kirsch’s voice was so weak, so small. LaFontaine was definitely not imagining the way it sounded strained in his throat.

(Since when had that happened?! Would they be okay? The short-haired ginger knew that they were not the only one hoping that they would be.)

“Fine. They asked for it, we’ll deliver,” Lily snarled, furiously decisive in her words. She turned around to face the group, dominance leaking out of her. Kirsch didn’t even flinch; he fed off her fury. “You need to stay behind me at all times, okay? And only use your stakes when they’re necessary. I can’t have you guys getting yourself into any more trouble with this, because I’d rather it wasn’t discovered that I was present when you got yourself killed and started this damn war, okay?”

The group just gravely nodded, Kirsch’s head bobbing up and down way too quickly to not induce dizziness.

“Good,” the werewolf sniffed as she adjusted her winter coat, and instantly transformed into her wolf form again.

That was that, then. The silence resumed and their hands tightened their grasp on their stakes.

* * *

 

The journey to reaching Mother was not without complications. Indeed, they were partaking in a battle that could have changed the outlook of supernatural affairs for centuries to come, ignited by a ferocious and arrogant clan intent on creating havoc. Naturally, things were not expected to run smoothly; it would, however, have made this whole ordeal a whole lot easier.

Carmilla had to hand it to them; the vampires were passionate. When they threw themselves into the battle, they gave their all. It wasn’t enough, though – no dogged desire for revenge against a just alliance this scale could ever amount to much. As such, the _Lophiiformes_ clan members the specialist group encountered on the way didn’t put a dent in their pace. They were overpowered, outnumbered. Even the seasoned vampires, some older than Carmilla herself, were no match for the werewolf-vampire assembly.

It soon occurred to the only vampire of the group that they had been picked by Mr Lawrence due to their fighting ability. Each member was elite at a certain part of fighting – Ronan brought the aggression, the weight into the battle. Where his size hindered him, Wilma could snake around and strike. Alex refused to let any attacks find purchase; his speed forbade such a thing. Mr Lawrence provided a formidable defence.

Carmilla surpassed them all in speed, strength and knowledge. But that wasn’t to say they didn’t try.

No, they were an intimidating team. She knew this; they all knew this – Mr Lawrence knew this. The confidence settled into his face and lengthened his stride. He believed they were going to win. He thought it was going to be easy.

He would be proved so, so wrong.

Mr Lawrence was a learned man, no doubt – someone in that position would have to collect sufficient information on the offending team, the alternative was thoroughly undesirable – but he did not know Mother like Carmilla did. He had not witnessed her throughout the centuries; he had not seen her wrath with his own eyes. Tonight, he would, but right now he was unprepared.

Carmilla, on the other hand, knew all too well what the vampire leader could achieve.

It played in front of her eyes like a silent film. (They had, once, piqued her interest – but this was when they were in their infancy; their appeal was quickly lost.) All of the memories flickered before her, overlapping each other in quick succession.

Hours and hours of travelling on miles and miles of dirt roads, foliage swishing by their carriage. Sometimes they’d caress her hands if she opened the carriage door and leant out to touch the fronds.

Hours and hours of travelling to different countries, each one once as exciting as the last, as exciting as the next. When she had been Mircalla Karnstein, she could only have _dreamed_ about these foreign lands, shrouded in mystery and intrigue. As Carmilla, creature of darkness, she saw their frontiers, their hidden cultures, their great monuments the states she visited so prided themselves on.

(Carmilla had always preferred those journeys conducted in the serene stillness of the night.)

She saw Mother smiling at her, a wide grin that spoke of pride and love and ambition. The ambition was evident; the pride apparent. The love, Carmilla had supposed was there, but in different forms to what she had been expecting. It was a selfish love, but it was a love all the same – and that had been enough for the younger vampire, for a long while.

They’d seen the oceans. Her centuries of travelling with the clan had brought her to the most dazzling of sights. They’d had to travel where they were permitted, due to the aggressive nature of their clan, but over the time she’d existed, she’d seen every corner of the Earth. Any normally accessible corner, of course. (It wouldn’t do to take trips into the sea and arrive on the other side unscathed.)

And they’d seen oceans so wide she’d felt so exposed by it all. The eternal waves lapping on the shores, the sands and the soils steadied by the rhythm of the seas. She’d known, acutely, how in time it would be eroded, all dissolved into the undulating abyss of water and salt and life. Somewhere else, it would be built up again – this never-ending circle of life and death and everything in between. She’d found it rather beautiful.

(She still did.)

(In the midst of the oceans and the travelling, she saw flashes of blood red and heard the screams of innocents, but that was part and parcel of it all, it was in her nature, and she couldn’t pretend she didn’t view with a reverence similar to hers for the oceans and the night skies.)

In her existence, she’d attended more parties than Mircalla Karnstein had thought – and correctly guessed – was possible. The young adult in her had been delighted – most nights, a different place. New dresses. New people. That had been the advantage of being undead. It was history now; the balls her feet had graced had crumbled, and with disappearance of such moving pieces had come the unworthy replacement that was modern music. But it was as much as part of her as it was of history. One of the highlights of her early days.

(All of these blissful memories were predominantly from her days as a vampire youth. Everything had been intense; everything had been new and enrapturing. Everything had been so simple.)

She remembered the stories, too. Stories from the older vampires, some from the newer ones. Stories of ancient empires, empires she’d wished she’d seen with her own two eyes. Stories of struggles and success, tales of long lost loves, epics of glorious warfare. These were few and far between, compared to the propaganda they used to spout – but her favourite moments were the ones when the clan members shed their arrogant vampire shells and became themselves again.

(She’d seen the beauty, the terror, the pain and the joy woven into each saga. She’d understood what others had had to suffer, but she hadn’t known then what she was to go through herself.)

It was the moments in between the treasured stories, in between the excursions to the wonders of the world, that Carmilla had learned to hate. The preaching from Mother, her selfish deeds. Her vendetta on anyone who didn’t agree with their narrow viewpoint. She’d watched as others – _everyone_ – got swept up in the indoctrination. Everyone had turned to Mother as the undisputed leader; she could do no wrong. Mother was always right, no matter what the outcome was.

(She’d really hated that.)

With every act of disobedience, Carmilla had learned to hate her. With every reward she’d received, her disloyalty had been thrown into question. She’d wanted approval from the leader vampire for so long, and she’d still wanted it then. But then it became too much; Mother’s actions too harsh, her words too toxic to Carmilla. There had been no other alternative.

As much as she wanted to focus on the ecstasy she’d felt as a vampire, the part of her that felt pushed down to the dirt by her own clan was still valid. They were as much as part of her as the other was. Entwined, steadfast. These were memories, wondrous and woeful, that would always make up who she was, and that was undisputed fact.

Memories were not actions. Memories were of the past. They set the future in motion.

They meant she could let go.

A wolf growled at her and nipped at her side; the silent film rolled to a stop inside her head, the camera clicking off. She hissed at the offender, jumping back to protect herself – to find Mr Lawrence staring disapprovingly at her while Wilma gazed sheepishly her with lupine eyes.

“Concentrate, vampire,” Mr Lawrence warned. “She’s close.”

Close indeed. All too soon, Mother was there right in front of them, conversing furiously with the two vampires that guarded her. (That was a good sign, wasn’t it? If they were unsettled by the turn of events, then things must have been going well.)  In an instant they were on the specialist group – teeth bared, eyes blazing. One of them recognised the black panther and lunged straight for her.

It wasn’t an easy battle, by any means. She obtained a deep slash to the stomach, and her movements were slower and accompanied with a grimace afterwards. But she disposed of the vampire, while the others of her group moved against his colleague.

Mother just stood back and watched.

And, then, finally – “It’s not as if I didn’t expect this, wolves. You always had a thing for the noble way out. And I see you did your best to bring me down –” her gaze settled on the piles of bones that now lay at the group’s feet “– but casualties are casualties and casualties mean nothing if you are to win a war.”

“This is not a war, this is an incitement of aggression,” Mr Lawrence spat. “This is a battle, and _you_ are losing.”

The unusually tight smile on Mother’s face unsettled the black panther. She wasn’t familiar with that emotion flashing on the older vampire’s face.

“How can you be so sure, beast? The fighting is not over yet? If I were to sink my teeth into you this very moment, my plan would be complete, and it would not matter whether I survived or not.”

A silent moment, the breeze cold with anticipation wafting over them. Then the leader of the clan lunged – and Carmilla stepped in to stop her, a heavy growl hanging in her throat.

A deep laugh poured out from Mother, sonorous and unsettling. “Of course, the darling girl. Throwing away her life once more. Is this who you truly are, my princess? A pawn in games played by beasts?”

Her feral eyes flashed with contempt as her head snapped from the feline to the head Lawrence.

“If you are foolish enough to proceed to your deaths, then find me where the Master lies.”

The next second, Mother was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter updates will be whenever I can write, so don't expect a regular update schedule. ((Regular?? It was never regular anyway, haha... whoops.))
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	24. And Then You Take it All Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world narrowed - not to celebration, but to destruction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything is fine in the canon universe, totally fine :)) No one is dead, especially not Danny, no! :)) Danny's gonna live forever, duh :)))) TOTALLY :)) FINE :D  
> (Happily, I'm skilled in the art of being in denial.)  
> So, yes, this is a big chapter. And yes, there is angst. Quite a lot of it. And, yes, you are more than welcome to scream at me in the comments section. I'm ready for it. Just let loose; we probably all need to after Episode 35.
> 
> Chapter title taken from Figure 8 // Ellie Goulding.

Wolfgang’s plan backfired completely.

Oh, it wasn’t that they couldn’t see the slaughter beneath them. They could see that very well. The night air was thick with the scent of blood and the cries of anguish and victory. Wolf and vampire alike merged into one as they collided – and collided again, and again. Michael heard the sobs of pain keenly, felt them shake his body and clench his jaw.

His friends were there. His friends, the werewolves, were being killed, and there was nothing he could do about it. (He couldn’t imagine how Danny and Jackson felt. They were their _family_.)

But then. A sudden charge at the vampire’s right flank, over from the mountains – a new werewolf family! The vampires could really be overpowered now! Mike lifted his tired body up, straightened his back, and he saw his werewolf friends do the same. There seemed to be hope now.

“No,” Wolfgang murmured from behind them, his disbelief ringing through the only word he spoke. “No, this – this can’t happen. The wolves didn’t say, the…”

“We weren’t expecting them,” Danny noted, eyebrows raised in surprise. “I don’t—”

“I didn’t ask you to _speak_ , mudpaw,” the vampire jailer hissed, tapping the back of her neck on the spot the water had dripped relentlessly. Danny twitched and turned around to bare her teeth at him, that crazed look back in her eyes, but Michael interrupted her reaction.

“Danny, no,” he rushed, and the werewolf stopped. She looked at him with gratefulness in her eyes, but it was paired with concern.

“Who gave you permission to reply, betrayer?” Wolfgang’s assistant was behind him at an instant. “Can’t you keep your traitorous mouth shut for a second?”

“Or do we have to make you?”

Michael kept quiet.

Wolfgang dug his nails into the vampire prisoner’s scar anyway.

Beside him, Jackson bristled with contempt. Danny was on the point of exploding. But Michael was just glad it wasn’t _them_ who was hurting – he’d rather it be himself. He could take the pain, even if he felt like passing out.

(He took a small victory from the fact that Wolfgang’s fingers got burned afterwards. The sunlight hadn’t left his scar, and he was thankful that it was still around so the jailer could feel its effects too.)

“I can do much worse, _Wolfliebhaber_ , don’t you forget it,” Wolfgang smiled sickeningly.

He didn’t want to know what the vampire’s idea of worse was. His weakened body, starved of blood (or any credible sources of blood), would not be able to take anything else. His head was already swimming.

(He was definitely hallucinating too, because he swore he heard Kirsch call his name. What he wouldn’t give to be back with him and the rest of his friends at the mansion.)

He thought he saw the two werewolves exchange a look – at first panicked, but then determined. How the two wolves could communicate with a gaze, Michael didn’t know – but he was damn well glad he could because he guessed it could help him. Or, help them at least.

What happened next wasn’t anything Mike had seen before. Every part of it was so terrifying that he never wanted to see it again, ever. He’d been taught to fear this, above all he’d feared before.

Danny went deathly still.

(That should’ve been the first sign that something important was happening. The athlete hadn’t stopped moving in some way since the dripping had started.)

The prisoner vampire was vaguely aware that Wolfgang was trying to taunt him – but the only things he could think about were Jackson’s determinedly placid expression and Danny’s strange stillness.

“Are you listening to me?” Wolfgang hissed. “Or do I have to cut open that scar of yours to focus your attention?”

Danny’s eyes flew open. She was shaking now. Shaking with fury.

His assistant let out a shaky, “Wolfgang, I don’t like the way the girl’s loo—”

(Was that Laura? And Lily? Or was he just—)

A humongous, deep snarl ripped through the air from Danny’s mouth. Every instinct suddenly screamed at him to run, to get away from the werewolf. He knew, all of a sudden, what was happening right next to him. She was…

Convulsing. She was convulsing. Frozen in horror, time seemed to slow down as Danny changed forms, her bones cracking and elongating. Somewhere along the way, she appeared to lose control of herself; she snapped at the air in the direction of Michael and the other vampires.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t look away.

(He didn’t think he was hearing things now. That was definitely the sound of his brother. And the rest of his group. Michael’s heart lifted at the sound, despite how confused he was that he hadn’t smelled them.)

Wolfgang tried to wrap his arms around her to get her to stop – but it was too late. Her form was blurred as she transformed; her body grew and became less human and more lupine. But this wasn’t a normal transformation; she wasn’t turning into a wolf the size of a car, like the others vampires were expecting.

When she stood, transformation complete, she was over eight feet tall. Everything was distinctly imposing – the ragged, curved claws, the sinewy limbs bulging with muscles, the sharpened teeth protruding from her gaping maw, her maddened eyes locked on their jailers.

 _So this is how I’m going to die_ , Michael remarked in his head.

For the first time since Lilita Morgan’s visit, Wolfgang didn’t have anything clever to say. The vampire just stood there, mouth open, legs weak.

“Oh, sh—”

One second he was there, the next he wasn’t. Danny, in her hybrid form, had dug her claws right into him and tossed his body off like it was nothing more than a piece of meat. The heightened smell of vampire blood reached the prisoners’ noses immediately; Wolfgang’s body landed a little way off, partially hidden by a bush. They could still see some of his body, though – it was red all over (almost), thanks to the huge puncture wounds in Wolfgang’s chest.

A few years ago, Michael would’ve thrown up at the hideous sight. He’d seen so many since then for that to be true now.

Wolfgang’s assistant – who knew what his name was? Who cared? – was next. He whined a little protest and scrambled to get away, but Danny raced towards him, her growling only increasing the closer she got to him. The two remaining prisoners watched in horrified fascination as the vampire tried to fight the hybrid; he slashed, he bit, he tried everything he could. But the struggle only amounted to his death. With a cry, the vampire was slain.

(He couldn’t see the vampire’s head any more. His head had cleared only to spin at the sight of the body.)

As soon as Danny turned around, Jackson sprang up from his kneeling position. He was weak on his legs, and his body was shaking with fear – but something told Mike that it wasn’t all to do with the amount of walking they’d had to do.

The younger werewolf’s eyes were wide with apprehension. “Danny! Listen to me! We won! You killed them! You can – you can change back now!”

Danny was huffing, landing on all fours again. She looked over to the battle below them, eyes assessing the slow but steady progress the werewolves were making. There were a few hybrids out there, too – something none of them had expected, despite the situation they were in. They were just as manic as Danny was being, if not more. From what he’d heard, Michael was impressed that she’d even stopped to look at the carnage.

Was this a good time to get out of his sight? He thought it was. He slowly started rising from his position, the sounds of the battle underneath and his friends coming to meet them getting closer.

(They’d see Danny like this; wild, uncontrollable. Would they get hurt too? God, he hoped not.)

Yet that was the action that started Danny off again; her eyes instantly locked onto the remaining vampire. He halted, terror coursing through him, as he stared into those eyes. She had lost control. She wouldn’t be reached. And now, with that eye contact, she’d administered his death sentence.

As a furious roar came from the hybrid werewolf, three things happened at once. Firstly, Michael sprang back, his brain finally deciding what to do. Secondly, the human group – accompanied by Lily – finally arrived, rushing towards them with stakes clasped in their hands and ready to fight. Thirdly, Wilson ran forward to meet Michael, flinging himself (as much as he could with his healing leg) in front of Danny.

“Hey!” the bumbling journalist shouted at her, trying anything he could to get her attention instead.

“Danny! Don’t go near them! They’re not going to hurt – please, for the love of God, listen to us!” Jackson yelled at her, moving to get near the standoff.

It was as effective as screaming at a plant, but it was notable, still. Danny paid no attention to him whatsoever and lunged. But Mike jumped back, and his brother rushed forward – and in a sickening sound of bone being crushed, Danny placed her jaws around the human’s arm instead. Michael’s eyes widened as the tall journalist screamed, but he didn’t dare go near the scene; instead, he hid behind the bush near Wolfgang’s body (bloated like a dead body drowned) and watched it all unfold.

The scream had sent ice shooting down the vampire’s body – and he wasn’t the only one to react to it like he did. Somehow, somehow, Wilson had brought Danny back to her senses. She jumped back and watched, dumbfounded, as the human she’d hurt writhed in pain on the floor. The others sprinted over to him (as fi there was anything they could do), but the werewolf hybrid paid no attention to them.

The vampire, from his vantage viewing point, could see the battle going on behind her eyes. She was fighting to let the frenzy take over her, and fighting to keep it under control. But Wilson’s whimpers must have got through to her; eventually the frenzy died and she calmed down, whining and ashamed.

Michael figured it was safe to come out now.

Changing back to her human form, she clutched at her arms and gazed at her soulmate on the floor. She was too embarrassed to go over to him, too scared of what the others would say.

“What the hell was that, Danny? I thought you said you had good control over your hybrid form!” Jackson growled at her, storming over. “You _broke his arm_ , Dan!”

“It’s not _easy_ , okay?” she snapped, rubbing at her neck. “You know that!” Her eyes flickered over to Michael, and she mouthed, _Sorry_ , at him. He gave him a small smile in response.

(Of course he forgave her.)

Jackson suppressed a shiver. “I… I know. But you hurt him. You hurt him real bad.”

She nodded. “I know. I didn’t mean to, Jackson, of course I didn’t. I didn’t think—”

“Danjada?” the tall journalist asked, confusing the others. “Danny, bro, it’s okay. Just – ” he moved his arm and he winced, mopping up some of his blood “ – it just hurts a bit, dude. Nothing to worry about.”

“No, no, Kirsch, don’t say that,” she immediately answered, moving over to him and crouching over him. The others quietened; Perry nervously shuffled sideways. “This is – your arm isn’t going to heal for months.”

“Crap. Really?”

“Yeah. I’m _so_ , so sorry about this, Kirsch, I just… lost it.”

He punched her arm lightly – with his good arm, that was. “It’s _okay_ , ginger hottie, didn’t I tell you that? I don’t mind. It’s – uh – it’s pretty cool how you can do that. And… you’re here, so that’s what matters.”

She smiled. “I would’ve stayed for you anyway, idiot.” She chewed on her lip, looking at the wound she’d inflicted on him. “We probably need to have a talk about this.”

Everyone else respectfully moved away as Danny and her soulmate walked slowly away (Michael heard the discussing the implications of being bitten by a werewolf – obviously, his brother was _extremely_ excited), and Jackson shuffled over to Michael.

“I need to know what’s going on,” the younger of the two started. “I need to know how my family are doing. My parents are out there, Mike. I need to go see them.”

The vampire nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

“What? No, you’re, like, being _hunted_ by the vampires,” Jackson protested.

“You’re not going alone, Jack,” Michael reasoned. “Lily’s a great protector, and I want to see Mother. If you’re going, I’m going.”

The ginger sighed as he gazed at the group in front of them. (They were trying to get Lily to tell them what Danny and Kirsch had gone out of earshot for.) The vampire took that as a _yes_ , so he didn’t press it any further. “We should say hello to our friends, though, right?”

Michael nodded. “Carmilla’s not there, though. I thought – I thought she’d be there, too. Should we…?”

Jackson’s frown mirrored his own. “For Laura. She’d want to know.”

Their eyes met, their frowns matching. “What if it’s not good news?”

* * *

 

Mother was skilled at being wholly predictable and unpredictable simultaneously, something Carmilla had only ever seen the ancient vampire pull off. How she managed to do it, she was still in the dark about, but Carmilla had little time to ponder the meaning behind her actions. They just had to act – or, as was the usual procedure when dealing with someone like Lilita Morgan, _react_.

All of her life, Carmilla had been enthused by the mere act of thinking. She’d loved to consider the reasons why things happened ever since she’d been old enough to fully comprehend such things. That was why she read so many philosophy books, why she put on an air of cynical wisdom around others. (Cynicism came naturally to her, and was partnered with the destruction of her ideals that education brought forth.) Whereas humans were filled with a greed for money, she was awash in a constant itch to learn. To experience. To grow. Indeed, where her physical state had completely stalled for eternity, her growth came from learning and the thoughts brought with that heightened sense of awareness.

Mother stopped all that.

Mother did not advocate education where unnecessary. She lived to live in the moment – conditionally, of course, for her preferred moments had to reflect positively on the clan in some way. The history she taught her vampires was biased, untruthful and wicked. Carmilla never supported it, instead using her own time to become truly accustomed to the ways of the world.

That wasn’t to say she didn’t learn through experience, no – but her experiences in life were of the macabre type. Filled with death, despair and destruction. Red rivers, gleaming eyes, fur as black as the night. She was the epitome of the villain in the copious amounts of literature she’d read, and the majority of her delighted in it.

As life outside of the clan had shown her, there was just more to her existence than that. There was art, there was philosophy… there was love.

(Would this be the last time she saw Laura? Would her numbers fade like the rest of her, or would they start up again after Laura’s passing?)

Things too trivial for a leader of an ancient cult clan.

(Her books still lay open in her flat, in the mansion. Like she was planning to continue her exploration inside them as soon as this was over.)

Things too trivial in unsteady times such as these.

(Would people discover her drawings? Would LaFontaine sell them off, if she didn’t survive?)

They made her heart swell, the ghost of what it had been.

(She would’ve done this all again if it meant meeting with Laura once more.)

Carmilla knew that thinking too much around Mother would only secure her demise – so she’d had to think on her feet, with her group waiting on her. Luckily, the clan leader was predictable and unpredictable, so she’d known where Mother had fled. It had been obvious, and she’d wished she’d thought of it sooner.

Obvious to any vampire who knew Mother, anyway. For, really, what else did Lilita view her purpose in life was for than to serve the god that had been taken from her in her kittenhood?

A long time ago, when Carmilla listened to Mother’s words with an adoring curiosity, she’d heard the vampire talk of the clan’s origins. She’d heard the vampire talk of the god, and how she had always planned to resurrect “the supreme being”.

 _You are a child, and you understand nothing of this world you are part of, Mircalla. You do not know what it was like to live in the presence of the_ Lophiiformes _, or what it was like to serve Him. But you will, one day. He will rise again and ravage this disloyal earth._

She’d pretended to play along – Mother had only ever wished to seek out such servant behavior – but she’d not believed a word of it, nor cared for it. It had been endlessly fascinating, however, to hear Mother get so passionate about something that seemed so incomprehensible, so implausible.

_You’ll see, my child, one day. You and I will be standing at the sacrifice we will lay down for Him, in the mountains of Styria, and we will make Him rise again. And, oh, we will be rewarded! I never believed He was truly dead. All a god needs is belief to keep it alive, and I have been his only loyal servant, for all this time._

 The mountains of Styria. Of course. This was why the hunting ground was so revered for her – why she hadn’t touched it with a bargepole. It seemed ironic at the time, but Carmilla understood why now. Her presence would send the _Lophiiformes_ a message, a plea for resurrection. But she needed a sacrifice.

 _A sacrifice_ , Mother had informed them one humid Spanish night, _must have died in blood and rage and warfare. He only answers to the best of demands._

The bitterness Mother felt was never the full story. The bitterness was the platform the ancient vampire had needed, but it was an excuse to find a sacrifice. A sacrifice weak from fighting hours before would be the perfect specimen for a god so aggressive.

Carmilla was petrified.

Every part of her was ordering her to run back – to get Laura, and run as far away from this hellhole as possible. But – no, she was running _towards_ it, towards the problem that would get them all killed. She was probably going to be killed in their bid to kill it.

She’d hoped that her existence would have ended in far more comfortable circumstances than this. Alas, the world could not grant her everything.

Even worse, _she_ was the one taking them there. She knew the mountain Mother intended to meet them at – she knew the way, she knew the path. It had been drilled into the clan’s head ever since their undeaths. She was leading these poor, unprepared werewolves to the resting place of a god.

(She very much doubted she’d been in a more fucked up situation.)

Everything looked as she had been told, like it hadn’t changed for centuries. Everything was ghostly still, cloaked in a choking blanket of white.  It unnerved her; she felt the fear in her bones. She did not show it, however. She suspected it was paramount for the werewolves that she showed confidence as the only vampire of the gathering.

They were going to die, anyway. There was little point in worrying.

Mother was predictable and unpredictable, yes. She’d already figured out the predictable part – but now came the opposite. All of a sudden, around ten vampires leapt out of the shadows and set themselves upon the unsuspecting specialist group. One second there had been stillness, the next a flurry of fear and hate and pain.

It was best not to think. It was best just to concentrate all of her energy (all of her insecurity, all of her loathing for the world) into slashing and crushing, into clawing and stabbing. She was injured already, and the vampires chose to focus on her wound, but she dared not let them get near it. Any vampire could take advantage of another wound, and any vampire could finish her off because of it.

Time passed – or maybe it didn’t pass at all. Maybe it didn’t exist. Instead, they were in this vortex of fury and ferocity, where nothing else mattered except the blistering need to kill one another. The cries of anger and whimpers of pain from both sides mingled until the illustrator wasn’t sure which side had elicited which sound.

None of them realised that Mr Lawrence had been kidnapped and dragged into the mountain. Not until it was too late, when there was nothing they could do.

And they were so close. They were so close to winning – but they were so close to losing. There wasn’t much fight left in any of them. In the heat of the battle, Ronan Aussmacher had fallen to never rise again – but the others hadn’t noticed, hadn’t given him a second thought. They couldn’t, they just _couldn’t_. All that mattered was the feeling of their claws in their opponent’s flesh and – for the wolves – the lungs in their breaths.

“Jesus! Oh, my God, we’ve got to help them!”

Reinforcements. Reinforcements had arrived, at last. Reinforcements in the form of… oh, joy. The Dimwit Squad.

Carmilla knew this would happen. Laura wouldn’t listen; they would come, blazing with righteousness, throwing themselves to the slaughter. And the war would really start for sure.

She caught Laura’s eye, and the girl withered under her stare. Good.

(The illustrator was expecting stubbornness. She got none.)

The puppy ex-frat boy rushed forward, something like madness in his eyes – but somehow, Danny held him back. Instead, she made the humans hang back as the remaining three vampires span around to face the fighters.

Three _Lophiiformes_ clan members against two vampires, six werewolves and four humans. It could almost be described as an equal battle.

There was no rallying cry, no nod of a head to indicate any attack – they moved like one, snaking around to surround the vampires. The werewolves moved as six parts of the same piece; they were fluid like the raging waves of the ocean, helped by their constantly changing forms. The vampires acted as well as they could, but Carmilla had been fighting for too long now, and Michael (sporting a new scar) was in no fit state to tackle a vampire on his own.

Alex went down. Thrown into a rock twenty feet away by one of the vampires. They didn’t get up again.

The _Lophiiformes_ clan members had the advantage. They were not as tired, they were not as broken. They swore by a cause they would die for and kill for. Mortal werewolves were beatable, if not formidable, opponents.

It didn’t take much. One expertly placed slice, and Jackson fell to his knees. The smallest of thuds against the pale white snow; the quickest of gasps as he gazed down at his chest. His blood dripped onto the ground and he landed on all fours. Panting, gasping, heaving his last breaths.

The vampire kicked him away from the battle and he was flung sideways. He lay on his side, clutching his chest, locking gazes with his sister before the light died in his eyes.

“ _Jackson!_ ”

That shouldn’t have happened. None of this should have happened. This could’ve been prevented if Mother had _just_ —

The crack in front of her meant that the last vampire had been killed. The combat was over, but the battle had not yet been won. Everyone stood there, blood smeared on their faces and muzzles, eyes wide in the realisation of what had happened.

“Jackson,” came the strangled word from Lily. “He’s—”

The Lawrences rushed over to him, tears streaming down their faces.

Carmilla couldn’t stop to grieve. Neither could Wilma, the only remaining member of the specialist group besides Mr Lawrence and the vampire herself. A silent exchange between the two – Wilma filled with tears herself – confirmed what they knew. Mr Lawrence had to be saved, even if Jackson could not.

Silently, Carmilla snuck down the path, knowing Wilma was following her. She checked, just to be sure – and once again, she saw the scene unfold before her.

Michael, Kirsch, Laura and Danny crouched over Jackson’s body. LaFontaine and Perry disposing of the bodies of the others. There was no sign of relief at the victory, only sombre acceptance.

The tiny gay journalist’s eyes flickered up to meet Carmilla’s. The distraught expression on her girlfriend’s face broke the vampire, but she resolved to keep a stoic face.

The last thing she saw was Laura mouth, “I’m sorry,” before the illustrator turned back and continued walking to meet her fate.

* * *

 

The darkness stretched all around them, seeping into their figures. Black fur became indiscernible, blending into the shaded rock; only Wilma stood out with her russet fur. They were hunched over, their sleek figures touching the rocks above and to the sides, often at the same time.

The darkness that seeped into their figures proved not to haunt Carmilla, nor could it ever. She could view the landscape around her easily enough – besides, she’d long viewed herself as a child of the night. A lack of light never hurt a vampire.

It wasn’t that. It was the feeling of being trapped. It was the caverns closing in around her, taking her back to years of drinking in the blood of the girl she lost, back to gasping for a life she’d had taken away from her. It was hearing the drip of water onto the rocks, it was how still the air hung.

It wrenched her back to her worst nightmares, and she hated every second of it.

She wanted to bolt. She wanted to see the night sky, the stars shining down at her from their seemingly eternal positions in the universe. She wanted to get this over and done with, so she could escape and see the land open up in front of her. She wanted – she wanted anything but this, _anything_.

She always did manage to pull the short straw.

The dripping that echoed throughout the mountain served only as a reminder to times when she truly did want to die – when she would’ve given her very existence up to get away from that prison six feet under the ground – and of course, _of course_ this whole mess had to finish in a manner similar the one, her worst nightmare.

They’d heard the struggling from Mr Lawrence and Mother’s faux-sweet utterances from when they’d been present at the scene of Jackson’s last battle. Therefore, it was the most convenient pointer to their whereabouts; all they had to do was follow the voices.

…Fine, perhaps it _wasn’t_ as simple as that. The mountain was as convoluted and treacherous as the clan itself – they had to take complicated routes and risk their lives multiple times just to keep on track.

 _How fitting_ , she drawled in her mind, her thoughts sluggish. Was her body trying to heal now? This leeching of her energy was peculiar.

Ever so slowly (for Wilma was as slow as she was), the two rescuers had been nearing the voices – but now, Carmilla guessed, the captive and the kidnapper had stopped just behind this wall of rock. Although both probably knew they were there, the two of them were too preoccupied to acknowledge the unwanted presences.

 _“You’ll never get away with this_ ,” Mr Lawrence growled. _“The wolves won’t have it. The vampires won’t have it. They won't care about the rules of a war they never wanted in the first place – the god will be killed no matter who does it!”_

Mother laughed. (The younger vampire could count the times she _hadn’t_ been scared of that sound on her hands. This, considering she was over 300 years old, was less impressive than it was worrying.) _“You werewolves are nothing but fools. How desperate must you be to cling to the hope that He will be so easily slaughtered again?_ Lophiiformes _will take no prisoners; he will rid the earth of pathetic specimen such as yourself.”_

Carmilla could not see what Mother did, but, all of a sudden, the sounds of Mr Lawrence’s struggling and grunting increased. The reverberation of the sound and the way the sound waves sounded made her guess that they were in front of something vast, uncomprehendingly vast. Perhaps they were in a giant cavern? Or in front of an abyss or some sort?

An abyss seemed more likely. It seemed like the perfect resting place for the _Lophiiformes_.

_“The less you struggle the quicker your death will be, you incompetent mongrel. Then you can see all your equally spineless brethren in Hell.”_

_“Gah!”_ The clan leader must have pretended to hurt him in some way – maybe throw him into the unequivocally dark pit in front of him.

_“And now, for a little incantation.”_

Wilma suddenly sprang forward, clearing the wall of rock entirely. The panther had no choice but to follow, watching with a careful gaze as the Lawrence transformed with ease. She was lucky; the wound the illustrator had received made transitioning between her forms much more difficult.

“Get the hell away from him,” Wilma snarled.

“ _Oh!_ What a surprise!” Mother responded (clearly not surprised at all), turning slowly to face Carmilla and Wilma while keeping Mr Lawrence at the edge of the obsidian pit. “It looks we’ve got an audience. What is it you easily entertained mortals eat when watching a moving picture?”

Silence. Carmilla’s stomach churned.

“My mistake. You clearly are too focused on being heroes to consider such a thing,” the vampire clan leader continued. “You are, of course, too late. Your relative here has offered himself as a sacrifice to The One – and who am I but to grant his wish?”

Mother had the werewolf leader in a chokehold. His breathing was rapid, ragged. It only accentuated his futile situation – a man dependant on oxygen while the woman holding him could exist forever. A man dependant on the mortal world against a manic immortal.

“I had no choice!” he choked out. Wilma’s gaze instantly snapped to him, and Carmilla could see the anger cloud over in her eyes. Carmilla suspected that the younger werewolf was about to do something they all would not survive (besides, she wasn’t overly enthusiastic about seeing a werewolf in her hybrid form) – and so jumped at the chance to take over. She adopted her human figure again, wincing as she did so.

“Mother.” She swallowed, regaining her composure. “You don’t have to do this. Not him.”

The woman she spoke to made no move to let go, she just trained her delicately cold eyes on her claimed daughter. Even when she was holding someone against the edge of an abyss against their own will, she carried with her an air of respectability. “What?”

“Don’t use him. Take anyone else, Mother. Just not him. A war will start and it will be the end of everything you wish for,” she pleaded. (God, only _Mother_ could make Carmilla concede to begging as quickly as this.)

“Darling, I know of the risks. But we have only grown, and with our growth comes protection for Him. No werewolves could ever take us.”

“You’re wrong,” Wilma warned through gritted teeth.

The look Mother gave the youngest participant was enough to silence her. (For now.)

“The wolves are stronger, and the – the vampires won’t have your back,” Carmilla argued, moving to her Mother’s side so Wilma had a direct path to her uncle. (She’d only known he was her uncle an hour into the battle.) “It’s not like the Beast Wars. People _see_ , now, why it was so wrong. Death and destruction kills everything you live for.”

She knew that well. There was beauty in such things, yes, but she only thought that now she was dead. Everything she’d loved had been ripped from her grasp that night she’d been murdered.

(And now Laura, too.)

In one fluid motion, Lilita Morgan threw Mr Lawrence down onto the floor and pinned him there by her boot, so the front half of his body was dangling over the lip. Wilma gasped from behind them, but Mr Lawrence was still moving. In fact, he was… he was lifting himself up – or trying – and despite the concentration on her face, Mother couldn’t fully keep him down. Mother was… weak?

She must’ve seen the confusion flash across Carmilla’s face. “My darling, we are in the resting place of a god. He is taking our energy. There is no way to stop it.”

Ah. That made more sense. The illustrator thought back to earlier, how sluggish she’d felt – that had been the effect of the _Lophiiformes_.

In the corner of her mind, she vaguely saw Wilma start edging her way over to the older werewolf. She decided it would be beneficial if she distracted her adopted carer.

Luckily, Mother always did like to talk. “Oh, my darling, there is no way for you to stop this. You simply cannot win even if you tried. The war was not my goal – but it is an added bonus, I shall give you that. And with the death of _this_ one –” she applied more force to the boot pushing Mr Lawrence, and he groaned “– I can exist very happily indeed. The One will rise, and the gates of retribution will be opened, now and forever. It is just a shame you will not be here to celebrate with me.”

Mother leaned in to cup Carmilla’s face in her hands; the illustrator flinched but forced herself to let Mother do what she wished. “We would’ve been wonderful, my child. Truly. He would have rewarded the both of us so well. We would parade in darkness and fill our stomachs with delicious blood. The world would be under our command, and we would do as we wish. I had such a perfect vision for you. Why couldn’t you stick to it, Mircalla? Why did you have to turn your back on your fate, over and over again? Why couldn’t you just be obedient?”

“Our – our ideas of our fates appear to be very different,” she responded shakily.

“You always had to be right, didn’t you?” Mother mused. “Mircalla, the vampire rebel, never doing as she was asked. No _wonder_ the others took away your art. _They_ were correct, at least, because they knew art has no place in the clan.

“In a funny way, my dear, I am grateful you abdicated. You are my shining child, tarnished by ideas too fanciful for our nature, but time away was better than killing you straight away. I’d hoped you’d learn that life outside a clan is no life at all. In the end I had no choice but to send Will to hunt you down.”

Carmilla had frozen at the image of being killed upon abandonment. Was Mother really that rigid? Did she not allow others to leave?

“I am merciful with you, child. The others stood no chance once they escaped. Matska, Maximilian, Philip… they didn’t last a day. A shame, really. Matska was ever so good at showing you the ropes.”

Mattie, the first vampire she’d ever befriended. She’d almost been like a sister, for a few months. Soon after Carmilla’s undeath, Mattie had escaped, just like she herself had later done. All this time, she’d been wondering where her friend was, if they would ever meet up, if Matska would remember her.

She’d been killed all this time. The lesbian vampire’s fists clenched with force that would crush metal.

“But, anyway,” Mother just keptgoing on. She had a wickedly content smile on her face, as Mr Lawrence still writhed beneath her. “Will had got wind of you through your… business, and arrived to find you enamoured with a human. A _human_. Carmilla, you know stone cannot love flesh. And you are my glittering diamond; you were never meant to last. The fact that she even came at all shows how foolish the both of you were. No, I doubt she’ll be alive now. A leader has to have guards, you know. Reinforcements were on their way by the time we’d entered the mountain. I’ve told them not to show any mercy. They were all going to die eventually.”

Carmilla felt sick. Her head throbbed and her stomach turned – and, _God_ , she had never despised her Mother so much as she did now. They’d had no hope, no hope.

She caught sight of Wilma, just inches away from reaching the other werewolf. Now was a good time to act. “Show not your so-called mercy, Lilita,” she hissed. “I’m sick of it.”

“Very well,” the older vampire nodded, as if it had been the easiest decision in the world. “It’ll be a shame, to rip you open. Darling Carmilla, you have chosen your own fate. The wrong one.”

Mother attacked just as Wilma grabbed Mr Lawrence’s hand. She’d pushed with her feet – and so Mr Lawrence was on the verge of toppling into the pit, but Wilma had saved him just in time. But it was not over; it had barely begun.

Mother was weak, yes, but so was Carmilla. Nevertheless, she fought with everything she was – even transforming as much as she could bear – while the older vampire came at her in a cloud of crows and screams. But she was never going to win this fight – both of them knew that.

She was angry enough not to care; all of her bitterness and frustration and hurt poured out of her in her feline roars, her feline claws, and her vampiric strength. And her human fury.

She felt herself get weaker and weaker (she felt Mother buckle under her anger), but it was enough to get Mr Lawrence away from the edge of the abyss. Wilma was making sure her uncle was okay, but all eyes were on the scene before them.

They were close to the edge. Too close. She felt her paws slip, scratch and scrabble. But she was still on the lip, using all the strength she had to not fall into the pit. Then suddenly she was slammed down on the ground, and instead of seeing glassy black eyes and chiselled beaks, what swam into her vision was the oppressor supreme. Slightly dishevelled by their fight, yes, but still sharp and practical. And always, always cold-hearted.

“I had hoped you would be better than this,” Mother spoke, gloating at her win.

Memories of her life as Mircalla Karnstein accompanied the throbbing in her head.

(She was leaving everything behind.

She was leaving Laura behind.

What sort of cruel universe was this?)

Carmilla heard footsteps circling her, predating playing the prey. She heard heavy breathing – no, two? Two sets of panting – and some shuffling.

“You had so much _potential_ , Mircalla. I could have shown you so much more. You just had to do everything on your own terms.”

She wished she could fight. She wished she could summon some formidable power from somewhere, just so her legs could carry her away from this prison. She had nothing. She had nothing to save her.

(In her head, she was calm.

 _I have been in love with no one, and never shall, unless it should be with you._ )

“Now you get to die on your own terms, t—”

A war cry shot through the cavern as Wilma barrelled into Mother and took her with her as she leapt – and the vampire leader, too engrossed in her victory speech, could do nothing but fall.

Fall down, down, down, the vampire and the werewolf hopelessly entwined, into the abyss below.

A strangled noise was uttered from behind her – and, admittedly, Carmilla did not blame Mr Lawrence for his reaction. That was it? Mother was just… gone? No death born in fire, no thunder rolling across seas?

As slowly as she could, she heaved herself up. Now Mother was gone, some of her strength had returned. Only some – only blood could make her ever hope to retain some normality.

Then. A piercing, inhuman scream ripped through the air, travelling from below them. It caused Mr Lawrence pain, but the only discontentment it caused Carmilla was the sudden revelation of what was down there. With two sacrifices, weak from hours of fighting.

The first rocks fell, and then the second round. By the time the deep rumbling had started, both survivors had realised what was happening.

“Run,” Mr Lawrence whispered.

In answer, Carmilla did her best to transform quickly (with a small cry of pain she unfortunately could not prohibit from escaping), and she stumbled over to him.

“Let’s _go!_ ” Mr Lawrence disappeared as the words left her lips.

Carmilla, her mind still slow from her weakness, could only look back into the blackness.

The memories were flickering like a silent film in front of her again; all of her best times with Mother.

All of that wonder.

Then the roaring finally set off the panic she’d needed to feel, and she tried to run as best she could with trembling limbs and destruction all around her.

The whole mountain was crumbling. It wheezed and groaned its protests as the solid earth tumbled and cracked open around them. The stuffy paths they’d used before were mere holes, and they were forced to crawl through the spaces. Carmilla squeezed herself through the very places she didn’t want to be, urged by the collapsing mountain around her.

She knew she was close; there were voices interspersed with the screaming of the mountain. She was so close to her home, so close to her life. Despite how drained she felt, she could feel her mouth being tugged at the corners at the promise of it.

Back home. Safer. Not totally safe, but safer.

But then she was forced to stop. The interior of this part of the mountain was collapsing too – not much, just enough. Just enough for a gargantuan piece of rock to slam right in front of her, blocking her way of escape. She was too weak to charge through it, and the mountain was closing in on her, fast. No other way around, no path to freedom.

No, no, no. This was not meant to happen. She’d survived the battle with her Mother – she was meant to get out. She was meant to _survive_.

Goddammit, she wanted to survive!

What was it she had said to Laura one night, in the mansion? When they had been alone, and the responsibility was weighing down on both of their shoulders?

_“Could we just pretend, just for tonight, that if I asked we’d run away?”_

She could see that now. Running to some other place, another place they’d call home. Away from vampires clans and werewolves and ancient, angry gods.

_“It would just be you and me in love.”_

She saw flashes of everything she’d known leading up to this moment – Mircalla, dancing at balls, her death, her undeath, vampire culture, drawing, her numbers, and Laura. Of course Laura. Laura laughing, Laura smiling, Laura calling her “Carm”. She wanted to rip the rock from its position in front of her and run to her, run to her girlfriend and hold her one last time. But there was no time allowed for such sentimental things. There was only time for the roaring mountain, the rumble of maddened gods, and total blackness.

When Carmilla Karnstein noticed the huge expanse of rock falling from above her, hearing the world outside taunt her, tease her, the last thing on her mind was nothing other than her soulmate.

* * *

 

It was the worst sound ever. Hearing a mountain crumble inwardly was like invoking the roars of a thousand lions. It terrified the hell out of Laura, who hadn’t even been that composed in the first place.

How could you be composed at a scene like this?

SJ. Jackson. The other werewolves laid here. And all of the countless wolves that had lost their lives on the battlefield. It was so _unnecessary_ – these were people with hopes and fears and aspirations and _lives_ … all to be taken away. Just. Like.

There was nothing else to do but hold each other, really. Laura guessed she was holding Danny, who was sobbing freely into Kirsch’s shoulder. On her other side was Perry, who was pressed against the tiny journalist but leaning into LaFontaine. They all looked dirty, dishevelled. Defeated.

She tried to keep her head held high. She really did. But it was the hardest thing.

She should’ve been clutching her girlfriend. Carmilla should’ve been here. All she could think about was Carmilla.

Danny’s father staggered out from a little entrance into the mountain, coughing and tripping up a few times. The group circle instantly broke and the Lawrences instantly ran to him. They were silent as they helped him walk towards them.

“Where’re – where are the vampires? Did they come?” he mumbled, blinking slowly at the place around him.

“What vampires? We – nobody else came,” Danny answered. “Nobody came to kill us.” She added bitterly, “Or save us.”

“Okay. Okay. She just said. She lied. Before Wilma… before they fell in together. Died together. ”

Laura’s heart clenched as she heard the news. He just sounded so… deflated. He’d realised that Jackson… he’d realised about him, clearly, and there was nothing left for him to do but just collapse. A lot like the mountain had done, after that horrible scream had sliced through the sky.

The mountain. The mountain. Where was Carmilla? Laura needed her to be okay.

_Oh, please be okay. I’m so sorry. Please be okay!_

But the rumbling stopped, replaced with a ghastly silence. Laura couldn’t even hear the laboured breaths of Mr Lawrence, couldn’t hear her friends next to her.

There was just silence.

She must have miscounted. Carmilla must have been so frustrated at seeing Laura that she slipped away before any of them could see her. Maybe she got out another way. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

She hoped too much for something she knew hadn’t happened.

“Where’s Carmilla?” she asked, her voice strangled and desperate. She turned to the heaving, shivering werewolf leader, and with blood and dark with grit. “You saw her, right? She escaped, didn’t she? Tell me you saw her.”

There was just silence.

And, yeah, the mountain had been petrifying, but it had nothing on this silence.

He looked sheepish. As if he had forgotten all about Carmilla. As if she wasn’t important. He looked terrified, too.

(The battle was over, and Carmilla's Mother was dead. The battle was won. No one should have looked terrified.)

Laura felt the air rush out of her as it set in, as what had happened reared its head in her mind and smiled at her.

(She saw the smile of Lilita Morgan, sculpted to perfection and as welcoming as ice. She saw SJ’s body at her feet. She saw Jackson, curled over his stab wound and sleeping forever.

She saw Carmilla, crushed by the rocks of the mountain. Eternally trapped.)

The panic set in.

“Guys?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't kill Danny off. The first time ripped my heart out and crushed it beyond repair. How could I do that again?
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	25. The Ghost of You is Close to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were just... gone. Some of their closest friends, their closest family - people with whom they'd shared their lives, or they'd just started to share it with them. Just gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so this chapter is a bit depressing. Sorry about that. But, hey, it's the penultimate chapter! Exciting times!
> 
> Chapter title taken from Goner // Twenty-One Pilots.

How long had it been? Since the battle? She couldn’t remember. She didn’t want to remember. It would be better if she didn’t have to think – at all.

Thinking meant her mind went back to the battle. Thinking meant her mind went back to Carmilla.

She’d never lost a soulmate. She’d lost her mom, the closest thing she’d had to a soulmate, but she’d been smaller then. The permanent ache that had come with it still hurt, but that was from a time when she didn’t know what life with a soulmate was like.

In comparison, life without a soulmate was wretched. Especially when your soulmate – the _one_ person who wasn’t supposed to die – was dead.

A shudder threatened to dislodge her bones as she thought of that word. It just – it wasn’t supposed to happen. Out of the two of them, _Laura_ was the vulnerable one, the breakable one. _Laura_ was the one who was supposed to stumble and fall, to go the same way as countless others. If she could give Carmilla back to the world, she would. In any way possible.

This was never supposed to happen.

The coin, it seemed, had landed on its side. They’d done it. They’d won, they’d actually won. And Carmilla was dead.

No victory without sacrifice, huh?

She felt like a shell of a person. She was still herself – but, God, she was tired of being herself. She was tired of herself on a _cellular_ level. She’d never been this drained before (and she’d had a fair few attempts – that went without saying). And it just sucked.

This whole situation just _sucked_.

She didn’t do much else but stare into space, her eyes trained on nothing in particular in the bedroom. (They were trained on the past, when things were actually _okay_.)

They were all stuck in the mansion, still. There was nothing else to do except wander about and wish for times when things weren’t so… heart-breaking.

They’d won. Lilita Morgan was dead. Chucked into the pit inside the mountain, Danny’s dad had said. As soon as the mountain had stopped crumbling, when the rocks had finally settled and the dust swirled lazily in clouds against the colourless ice and crunching snow, the vampires had realised what had happened. They’d lowered their fists, forced back their fangs… they’d just given in.

And had started wailing.

It had been a jarring sight to see. These creatures of the night – if they’d known how human the group were, then they would’ve lunged straight at them. But then they hadn’t even glanced at the group as they’d made their way to the mansion. They’d been on their knees, slumped and defeated. Some had been crying, some had been eliciting this weird high-pitched yowl, and some had just been quiet. Oddly calm, even though they’d known of their fate.

The red mist had faded from everyone’s eyes, leaving the grisliest of jobs left. The werewolves had to dispatch of the worst vampires – so there wasn’t any _other_ rebellion of any kind – and take home the fallen. They’d left no one behind, werewolf or not. Everyone deserved a respectful burial.

(They’d left Carmilla behind. Laura had reminded them of that – _repeatedly_. She’d shouted it, even. But they hadn’t done anything.)

There were some _Lophiiformes_ clan members left, of course – the young ones, mostly, the ones not dead set in their views. They were still impressionable, so they could be persuaded to get on the right side of right and wrong. Until they were subdued, they’d been advised to stay at the mansion in case a rogue vampire attacked them in their homes. There hadn’t been much any of them could do about that decision.

Michael had been selected as one of the people to help the young vampires from the _Lophiiformes_ clan. He’d objected instantly – he _had_ just been tortured by them, after all – but Mr Lawrence had held a firm stance.

“You’re the best person we’ve got, Michael,” he’d informed the vampire. “They know you. They know you escaped and survived. And you, of all the candidates, can show them the human side of vampirism.”

(Well, Michael had been quite pleased about that. That must have been the second time Laura had been around to see him smile.)

If he wasn’t instructing the kittens (Laura still found that a strange term to use), then Mike was sulking. He stayed inside the mansion and paced about, making sure all the curtains were closed in the daytime. In the night, he disappeared to do his duty without as much as a goodbye.

He wasn’t allowing himself to reach out and be comforted, and that was making things worse for him. The scowl seemed permanent again now, and he looked a lot more dangerous now he had the scar across his face.

Laura wasn’t exactly in a position to judge, but their situations were different. Michael had lost a friend and someone he’d looked up to; the tiny gay journalist had lost her soulmate.

(She was _so_ glad that his soulmate wasn’t arriving in his life for a while – to have lost them in a battle like this would’ve been more than he could’ve taken.)

Danny had lost a lot too. Arguably, she’d lost the most, more than anyone – or, at the very least, she was on the same level as Laura. The Lawrences had by no means suffered the most losses, but there were still significant deaths. Danny’s mom was in hospital. Wilma Lawrence had sacrificed herself to kill Carmilla’s Mo—Lilita Morgan.  Lucas Lawrence had been one of the first in her immediate family to die. And… Jackson. Jackson had been killed _right in front of her_. Killed in cold blood, and they hadn’t even been allowed a proper goodbye. And more had gone with them – cousins, an aunt, distant relatives. The suffering was incomprehensibly vast.

Danny was dealing with that as best she could – throwing herself into helping Kirsch. Kirsch – well, he was mourning, too, but he was also going through the process of turning into a werewolf, so… his mind was obviously a bit preoccupied.

And that helped Danny. It let her concentrate on something other than the excruciating ache that resided in her heart. If she could concentrate on how awesome being a werewolf was, then it would help her. And, honestly, Laura was glad for her.

It was just, sometimes, Laura needed to be with her best friend. Kirsch was her journalistic partner in crime. He knew the nicest words to say, the right things that helped comfort her. Kirsch just _got_ her – and although nothing could ever really make this bad situation go away, his dogged desire to help would alleviate some of the pain. Possibly.

It was better than nothing.

Laura could only ever stop, only ever think about what went wrong and what went right and why she wasn’t allowed that happiness. Danny could keep pushing on like she did – if not with Kirsch, then her competition (which was coming on in leaps and bounds thanks to the lack of threat from the _Lophiiformes_ clan). If she slowed down, she’d collapse in a fit of tears.

(Laura had seen her do that once. Kirsch immediately went to hug the athlete.

She was happy they still had each other.)

LaFontaine and Perry were trying, they really were. The smallest smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as the journalist thought of them. While everyone else was falling apart, they were the glue that kept things running. Perry was doing a fantastic job with keeping the house running, as usual. LaFontaine was going into overdrive fending off offers from real estate agents, _and_ working on their own job, _and_ being a shoulder to cry on when no one else was around. They and Laura often spent nights together watching crappy TV shows and scoffing popcorn – which Laura was hopelessly guilty about and thankful for. Guilty because LaF should’ve been spending that time looking at adoption centres with Perry. Thankful because Laura just needed someone to be with, so she could pretend she wasn’t as fragmented as she felt.

* * *

 

Laura didn’t have dreams. She had nightmares. On the times she actually fell asleep, her conscience would envelope her in a story she wished she didn’t have to see. She couldn’t believe her brain was creating this for her – this torture that haunted her waking hours too.

The waking world was hardly better than the sleeping one. At least, when she was conscious, she didn’t have to replay things she’d never seen and wished she didn’t imagine, things plausible but still awful, or things that would never happen.

It was teasing her, really. Her mind.

It often alternated between three scenarios. The first – an imaginative replaying of Carmilla’s death. Seeing her wide eyes, hands balled up into fists. Sometimes, she tried to push through the rocks behind her, but she was just too weak. Other times, she was calling out Laura’s name.

In the worst nightmares with that scenario, Laura was there with her. But she was on the other side of the rocks, crying out for her girlfriend to just break through and save herself. But she never could. She never could.

The second scenario was filled with insecurity and bitterness. It was just that Carmilla hated her. No matter the setting, the vampire would be sneering at her, talking her down. When Laura tried to reason with her, the illustrator laughed or just disappeared.

The third one was the worst.

The third one was the worst, because there was nothing wrong with it. In fact, everything was perfect. Carmilla was back – Carmilla was _home_ – and every time Laura could embrace her. It was all so _real_ ; she smelled the night on the vampire’s skin, the blood on her breath and the lavender scented shampoo the illustrator had started using when Laura had once mentioned in passing that she liked it. Carmilla was warm and embracing and all kinds of safe, and her voice was still like velvet when she promised the journalist that she’d never let her go.

They’d relax on the sofa of Carmilla’s apartment, or go for walks in the evening when the sun had set. The vampire would kick the snow when her girlfriend teased her, and she’d flash her a winning smile when she got her revenge.

It was perfect.

It didn’t exist.

And without fail, Laura was dragged into the truth – into the real world, with its harsh winds and serrated curves. Without fail, she would try to claw her way back into her nightmare. She wanted to stay in there forever. It was everything she wanted.  She failed, each time.

She woke up, pawing at the sheets where Carmilla should lay, and the weight of the world came crashing down once more.

They were the worst.

After those types of dreams, the journalist had to go downstairs to distract herself by going through the motions. She shuffled over to the kitchen and made a mug of hot chocolate. She rarely drank it, but it gave her the tiniest bit of respite. Besides, the heat would make ghostly tendrils of steam rise up into her face if she huddled close enough into it, and she needed the warmth in this Austrian winter.

If it was the morning, Perry would find her first. (Perry would only ever stay in bed past 8 o’clock in the morning if she was on her deathbed.) She’d find Laura staring into nothingness, hands wrapped around her mug. The editor would gently extract the now-salty hot chocolate away from the younger girl and make her a new one.

(Laura always finished Perry’s hot chocolate. Out of courtesy, more than anything.)

Perry did what she could, and LaFontaine did what they could – and even Danny, Kirsch and Michael if they had the time and weren’t freaking out – but Laura was finding it hard to climb out of this blackness she’d found herself in.

Everything still hurt, and Carmilla should’ve been there.

* * *

 

The one thing Kirsch hadn’t really expected about being a werewolf was that everything _hurt_.

Like, seriously. He was in agony. Was it always like this? Were werewolves crazy good at hiding pain or something?

“No, you idiot,” Danny had laughed at him, hollow but with a little bit of life in it, still. “It’s just when you transition. The pain goes away after a while.”

“How long does it take?” Kirsch had whined.

“Depends,” the ginger had shrugged, and that had been that.

So. Fun.

The thing was, Kirsch knew it was going to be _awesome_. There were so many perks to being a werewolf – and, damn, he was _so_ looking forward to it. He was going to be around, like, the coolest werewolf family ever, and even his own soulmate was a wolf. It was going to be fricking amazing.

The way the Lawrences described it, it sounded so exciting! They were closer than a frat house; they did everything together. They ran together, hunted together, and always stayed in touch. They had a whole world of their own, with its own culture and history and so on. Kirsch was so pumped to be a part of that, to gain all these bros. And the rest of the family. Yeah.

Who wouldn’t want that, really? That sense of belonging? In some way, he’d always felt out of place. Kirsch wasn’t smart, everybody knew that – but, like, he tried to get past that. It was only when he met Laura and her friends that he found it didn’t matter. At all.

At school, all he’d ever loved was sports – and he’d been good at it. But the other kids got a bit jealous, even within their own friendship groups. It wasn’t huge, but it was enough to pester him constantly, until the day he just blew up about it and it nearly cost him his scholarship. (His mother really hated Kirsch getting into fights. She’d been horrified at the state of him.)

And the one guy who had balanced all that out, Michael, had left his life for two years. The steady calm that Kirsch had sometimes needed to rely on had just – _gone_. He’d found it hard to breathe, actually, when Mike went, and he hadn’t always been able to keep afloat. Kirsch had always found that the best way to get by was with the help of your friends, and Mike and Jordanna had been the only ones polite enough to let him cry on their shoulder. Having that disappear unsettled him again.

So, yeah – that sense of belonging had come back. Michael had returned, obviously, but this gave him something else. It made him thrust his chest out and walk around with confidence.

Okay, that _may_ have been the slight madness he’d encountered too, but he’d take what he was given.

“ _Delirium_ ,” LaFontaine had informed him one night when he was half out his mind, “ _an acutely disturbed state of mind characterized by restlessness, illusions, and incoherence_ – or… _wild excitement or ecstasy._ That’s what you’re experiencing, Kirsch. But Danny tells me it won’t last long, so you’re okay.”

One of the side effects of being bitten by a werewolf, apparently. Which was unavoidable, yeah, but he still didn’t like it. Some days he walked around, barely even knowing who he was.

And his _body_. Jeez, it was like someone had set him on fire. It was annoying for two reasons – firstly because he wanted to run, like, _everywhere_ , all the time. (Seriously, being cooped up in this mansion was almost making him as mad as the transitioning was.) And secondly, his DNA was literally changing itself. It was burning up as it changed, making Kirsch feel hot and cold at the same time – and it was _so_ painful. There was no cure, no solution, except to lie down when it got to its peak (which was three in the morning, every morning) and use something to distract his mind. They were strict orders from Danny, spoken when the image of her had swum before his eyes.

Jesus Christ, how had she gone through this? And for _how long?_

“You’re nearing the end of it,” Danny had told him one night. He’d actually lost count of how many days it had been since the battle, because he’d been so wrapped up in his fire and in missing everyone. “It has to get worse before it gets better.”

 

He’d barely processed her words; his head had just felt really groggy and he had been a little spaced out. He’d lifted it slowly from the sofa’s arm and grunted in acknowledgement.

In return, Danny had patted his arm and left her hand there while she brainstormed ideas. (It was one of the first signs she’d given that she’d actually started _liking_ him. Like, in _that_ way.) “Let me know if you need anything. I don’t want you to rip up the house on your way to some penicillin or whatever. Perry would have a fit.”

Yeah, that was true. He hadn’t nodded – that _hurt_ – but he’d rested his head again. His legs had been draped over hers; she had been sat up while he rested. It had been quiet, peaceful. It had allowed him to think. Or, think as well as he could when he was half out of his mind.

Being a werewolf was exhausting, and not just physically. His brain hurt, too, like he’d got a whole other brain in there. And he didn’t like being so tired in that way. He thought he’d stopped that when he’d left school – but, no, this had to bring that back. He was always dead on his feet after he transformed, too. That had only happened once or twice – but, damn, it had almost killed him. _Since when was being a wolf meant to be painful?_ he’d moaned to himself when he’d transformed for the first place and immediately collapsed. Danny had been there to catch him, and she’d murmured how practicing meant the pain went away – but he was just… _tired_ of pain. Like, he’d broken his feet _and_ had his arm gouged by a huge fricking hybrid werewolf. Could he just not experience it anymore? He couldn’t take much more.

So, yeah, he was just tired. Tired of pain, tired of grieving, tired of being tired.

His bro Jackson had been killed. Right in front of him. Michael had _nearly_ been killed. Right in front of him. And Carm-sexy… well, Kirsch hadn’t known her very much but he was still distraught at her death. Obviously. Laura wasn’t even herself anymore (but not through physical pain, but emotional pain) because the vampire had died. Kirsch hated seeing the little nerd like that – he hated, hated, _hated_ it – and he _so_ wanted to see her. But Danny was forbidding him to see anyone. He was unpredictable. It was for his own good. (He figured it was a good idea – he’d almost attacked Perry once. He didn’t wanna repeat that.)

His grief was _nothing_ compared to Laura. And to Danny, too. Poor Danny had lost some of her family. (Especially Jackson. They all felt that one keenly. Bright, welcoming Jackson, with his easy smile. If Jackson had laughed, then Kirsch always had. The guy’s happiness had been like a disease …but in the best way possible, of course.) Yet, despite her grief, she was doing everything she could to help him. Kirsch was so thankful for her.

He tried to be there for her, as well. It was the least he could do, seeing as she’d done so much for him. She’d been dealing with it by just keeping moving, by just doing anything, because if she stopped she would think about all she’d lost. And there were few things worse in the world than seeing Danny Lawrence cry. It pulled strongly at him from the inside, and he was always _this_ close from crying himself. But he held it in for her, ‘cause he’d do anything for her.

That was what was happening now. His condition had improved – he was still aching all over (especially his arm), but he knew who he was. He was aware about… life, and he was almost acting normally again. (Kept getting tremors, though. That was annoying.) There wasn’t really anything he could do tonight, so he’d just fallen asleep.

He’d been woken up by the sound of sobbing.

Danny was at the foot of his bed, curled up into the smallest ball the leggy ginger could manage. She was full-on sobbing, heaving, sniffing. She kept trying to stop it, but, the sounds were just kinda forcing themselves out anyway, so she didn’t have a choice. And as soon as Kirsch stirred and sat up, she looked really guilty.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he reacted, immediately sitting up and crawling over to her. “Don’t cry, _Danbeschützer_! You’re okay, D-Bear, you’re okay.”

“S-S-Sorry,” she whispered, her breath catching a lot. “I’m fine. G-Go back to sleep.”

“Dude, no,” Kirsch protested, kneeling next to her and wrapping her into a hug. She was warm, and still really comfy even though she was still curled up. He rested his head on hers, and she relaxed a bit, adjusting her limbs so she could hug him properly. It was what they both needed. “You’re not getting rid of me now.”

She laughed, without humour. “You know, there was a time when that was all I wanted.”

“What happened? Did you finally give in to my charm?”

“I guess I must have,” she replied, nuzzling his chest with her forehead. Sighing, she added, “How did you do this, Kirsch? How did you get through this? SJ’s death was awful enough, but this…”

They let the rest of the sentence hang unspoken in the air between them.

(There wasn’t much air between them at all, if he was honest.)

“It’s a long process, Dan,” he answered. “Think of it as, like, your Victory Games. It’s just this idea, and it’s just way too huge, right? But when you make the first step, it’s super tiny but really helpful. Every step is just really small, and sometimes you don’t even realise you’re doing it, but you get there in the end. It takes a hell of a long time, though.” It didn’t seem like she wanted to speak, so Kirsch pulled her closer and added, “You get there. In the end. You’ll get there, Danjada.”

“But Michael came back.”

“Jordanna hasn’t.” He felt a lump in his throat when said that. He’d heard from her last night, asking to visit him to talk. It had been with a heavy heart that he’d had to decline. She couldn’t see him in this state.

(He really hoped she didn’t think he hated her because of that.)

“But there’s a chance for that. My family aren’t coming back, Kirsch. They’re just _dead_.” And that started her off again.

They stayed like that for a while, with Kirsch shushing her comfortingly. He tried, anyway. He really tried. And then he talked about the dream he’d had before the battle.

“I had a dream about you, y’know,” he murmured. “It was three days before the battle, I think. I was C—this weird, half-done painting and I was in this totally way out place. It was like a mix of different places from my lifetime. Anyway, I tried to look at myself in the river but you were there. And, God, Danny, I was so glad to see you. Even if it only was a dream.”

“Did I say anything? What happened to me?” she wondered.

He smirked at the memory. It all came back to him easily; he’d gone over it a million times. “You were so confident, Danny. You were like, _hey, so I just escaped the vampires and they’re “not exactly hospitable” or whatever, but we’re totally fine and there’s no point in worrying. It’s the wolf in you._ That last bit really confused me, though? Guess I was predicting the future.”

“Sounds like you had a… reassuring dream,” she noted. Her voice was kinda distracted. Far away.

“It was,” Kirsch agreed. “It helped. _You_ helped, and you weren’t even there.”

Didn’t that say a lot?

She was curled up against his side, leaning against the headboard of the bed now. They’d both moved there when their legs had started aching. (Well, just aching _more_ for Kirsch.) Her breath jumped suddenly and she admitted, “I wish I was as strong now than I was then. Life would be so, _so_ much easier.”

Kirsch stilled, frowning. Then he blurted, “Dude, what are you talking about? Of _course_ you are. You always have been. Just because you’re hurting, it doesn’t mean you’re weak!”

“You think so?” she questioned.

“Uh, yeah!” he almost shouted. Lowering his voice, he continued, “You’ve always been that to me. Yeah, even when we hated each other. Strong, brave, beautiful.”

Danny Lawrence, totally exposed in that moment, gazed back at him with red-rimmed eyes.

And, yeah, he was pretty sure he was in love with her.

* * *

 

It was hard to be excited for the future when everyone was in mourning.

She could’ve guessed that something like this would happen. When the jigsaw pieces of her life were coming together, everyone else around her was falling apart. It was an entirely peculiar situation to be in; the two trains of thought she’d adopted since the battle clashed in an unpleasant way.

It wasn’t like Perry wasn’t grieving herself. She absolutely was – she’d known Carmilla for a while now, and Jackson had seemed to be a nice, gentlemanly boy – but she’d never really had personal ties with any of the dead. They were always through someone else, no matter how close she was to them.

Carmilla had been abrasive. Snarky. Sarcastic. But LaFontaine had had a great deal of respect for her, and Perry had had no choice but to be civil with the illustrator. Perry was good at that – she was good at polite – and although Carmilla had proved to be a challenge, they’d got to the stage where she’d visibly thawed. No longer had Carmilla had her walls up – she had just been her usual, grumpy self, the one she showed LaF. And Perry had seen that as an accomplishment.

So Carmilla’s disappearance definitely created a pang of upset in the editor’s heart. She’d be heartless if the opposite was true – and she prided herself on _not_ being heartless. Practical, yes. Stubborn, yes. But never heartless.

As for Jackson – he had been so young. So young when he’d been cut down by the vampires. Jackson and had operated on different levels, and so she had never really got a chance to befriend him. He’d always seemed so lovely, so laid-back, however, so she’d never had a bad thought about him.

He’d been so young. Had she been around him more, he would’ve made her mothering instinct kick in. And now, he was gone. Just gone.

Damn this life of werewolf families and vampire clans. Why couldn’t things just be normal? Then LaFontaine and she could celebrate taking this big step in their lives in peace.

(Any semblance of normality had flown straight out of the window when LaFontaine had announced a while age that they were working with a vampire. It had taken Perry a while to process that. Apparently, labeling Carmilla as a light averse octogenarian with a haemoglobin deficiency and really good skin was somehow _wackier_ than the fact that her partner’s boss was effectively a creature supposedly from the pits of Hell.)

Communication had helped enormously. LaFontaine had been trying to insist that Perry was _not_ her parents, and that raising a child was always going to be tricky. But they had it in them, they and their wife, and their children would only ever receive the best start in life.

It had taken time, and plenty of thinking, but eventually, Perry had started to believe that.

She could do this correctly. _They_ could do this correctly. With the history of her family’s divorce, the editor supposed, she knew what to do and what not to do (or, perhaps, had more of an inkling). Her home life hadn’t been the most supporting, and her family was still struggling, even now – but things had improved greatly for Perry ever since she’d fallen in love with LaF. Painstakingly, the art agent had shown her that there was a difference between the ginger boss and her parents – that their love was different. She could have all she ever wanted, if she just distanced herself from her past.

She’d finally got there. _Finally_. But it was an altogether subdued process, thanks to the general mood in the mansion.

So Perry did what she always did in these sorts of situations. (What she did _excellently_ , if she said so herself.) She cleaned. Everything. Multiple times.

(It was what Carmilla would have wanted, she knew. The illustrator had been surprisingly protective of the building.)

If she wasn’t cleaning and generally taking care of the other inhabitants, then she was with LaFontaine, looking up adoption and fertility centres and purchasing books on parenthood. She always got a small flutter of excitement in the bottom of her stomach when they were doing this, but LaF’s face was always smooth. They were mourning Carmilla, too – and while their time they spent with Laura was helpful, nothing could change the fact that the vampire was dead.

If they weren’t doing that, they were talking. Sometimes about the future, sometimes about the past, and always – _always_ – about the present. Namely, their friends and their current states.

How was Kirsch doing? The two of them agreed that he’d be fine, just a bit panicked about his transformation into being a werewolf.

Was Danny doing okay? Well, she had Kirsch, didn’t she? They’d help each other. It really helped that they were soulmates.

How was Laura?

Their most frequent topic of conversation. Something about Laura compelled everyone to want to look after her. And in the state she was in, it was no wonder they were extremely concerned about her.

“Hey, Perr,” LaFontaine frowned, after having come downstairs early.

They’d been transferring the books they’d all used for research to a library on one of the upper floors – and on the way, they’d passed Kirsch’s bedroom to see Kirsch clutching onto a sobbing Danny as tightly as he could. They and Perry had discussed this from where they were in the kitchen before lapsing into silence. But now the agent spoke again.

“Yes, sweetie?” Perry responded as she reached for an orange. It needed to be eaten; the shopping hadn’t been done in a few days.

“Have you noticed anything about Laura’s clock? Her soulmate clock, I mean?”

Perry stalled. What a strange question. “Well, I suppose not. Why?” She briefly wondered if her partner was planning to experiment with something again.

“I’ve noticed how it’s… not changed,” the other person in the room explained. “There’s been no indication of any change on her arm at all. It hasn’t even clouded over, honestly.”

Now it was Perry’s turn to frown. She inspected the orange she was peeling as the pondered this unusual occurrence. “But Laura’s always been very receptive to the world of soulmates, hasn’t she? Her clock did clear very quickly after she ended things with Danny.” In fact, it had been clear by the next day; she remembered seeing the numbers on the tiny gay journalist’s arm the next morning at the _Styria Herald_. That was speedy by normal standards. Her clock’s reactions to events were acutely quicker than all (if not most) of the people Perry knew.

“Exactly, Perry.” LaFontaine brought her back to the present again. “So, if there’s a new soulmate out there after Carmilla’s… death – then why hasn’t it let her know? If Carmilla truly is dead, then why hasn’t it changed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com


	26. Take Me Home, Where I Belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They weren't going to let Carmilla's search for home fade away. Not after everything that had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, creampuffs. I've decided to add an epilogue to this story, because I couldn't leave this fanfiction behind JUST yet. It didn't quite feel finished. However, this is your last chapter of the official story - so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Chapter title taken from Runaway // AURORA.

Moving on was the hardest thing to do – because, goddammit, this was always going to hurt – but they tried anyway. They had to, because their lives were picking up their pace even if their minds were still overanalysing events from months ago.

It was February now. The wind was still bitterly cold, and their breaths still came out in frosty clouds, but the snow was starting to melt and the promise of summer was just around the corner. They’d all moved out of the mansion a couple of months ago (except Michael – because he didn’t really have a choice) and back into their own homes. They’d all started working again, too. But it was never going to be like before.

How could it? They’d lost too much. The battle had changed them all, permanently – if not by physical scars, then by emotional ones. Pictures of bloody fistfights, gleaming fangs, limp bodies – they all flashed through their minds at night. (Danny was surprised that any of them had even allowed themselves to sleep alone.) Michael still had an intensified adverse reaction to sunlight; sometimes he felt the ghostly presence of sunlight caress his skin and he felt the pain he’d long since got rid of. And, Danny knew that feeling. Any dripping on the back of her neck had sent her into a panic for a while, until her friends had helped her calm down at the feeling. For a while, she hadn’t even been able to brave having a shower. ( _Thank God for baths_ , she thought as she remembered that time.)

Danny was lucky in that she had her soulmate by her side to care for her through their grief. Kirsch was exactly what she’d needed – still needed – through the worst days. Just like she’d helped him through his transition into being a werewolf (which he’d got through quite well, actually, despite not having a werewolf family attending to him 24/7), he’d always been there for her, whatever was happening. In fact, he probably visited her apartment more than her parents did; and when _they_ visited, the oversized frat boy was present, too. Luckily, his family had welcomed him just like one of their own.

(He’d been so proud of that.)

When he wasn’t with Danny, or visiting Jordanna and his parents with Michael (and, according to the two brothers, the simultaneous reveal of Michael being a vampire and Kirsch being a werewolf had been the weirdest conversation they’d ever had), then he was working. Thanks to a clause in the journalists’ contracts that allowed them to miss work for “supernatural events outside of the employee’s control”, Laura, Kirsch nor Perry had been sacked. This meant that they had to work twice as hard, though, to make up for it. And the _Styria Herald_ really _did_ mean twice as hard – they had produce double the amount of articles for the year. It would’ve been impossible, had she not been talking about those three. Somehow, they’d manage it.

They were doing well, so far. Perry was as busy as ever, juggling work and preparations for adoption, and therefore she was content. When Danny visited the three of them, the werewolf could see that she’d embraced the new responsibility she’d taken on. Laura, too, was doing really well with her work. Her articles were pristine, perfectly delivered and were pleasing the bosses more than ever. She stayed up past ten o’clock at night, not because she was behind on her research or her writing, but because she gave it her all in her articles.

It was lacking the usual Laura Hollis enthusiasm, however, and that made Danny worried. Of course, Laura was trying to deal with Carmilla’s death by throwing herself at her job. If she was preoccupied with her work, then she wouldn’t think about the woman she was forced to leave behind.

Danny ached for her loss.

She wasn’t going to pretend that she’d liked the vampire, but her old flame was going through hell from losing someone she’d loved more than anything. The athlete could relate.

Besides, Carmilla had had a fire that Danny had admired (if a little begrudgingly). She missed the vampire, too.

She was confused, however, as to why Laura’s soulmate clock still hadn’t changed yet. It should’ve produced a new time, for a new soulmate. But it was blank, still. That didn’t make sense, especially not for Laura, and Danny was suspicious.

As for Kirsch, he had lost his passion for journalism now. It had been, at one point, all he’d known, but times changed people. (So did becoming a werewolf, and she suspected that it had given him a slightly different outlook on life.)

“It’s just… it’s not my _thing_ , you know?” he’d shrugged to her one night, when he’d confessed his thoughts about it. “Like, working with the nerd hottie is great, but – I’m just not feeling the journalism thing no more. I don’t like writing so much. And photography is just the _coolest_ thing, _Danbeschützer_.”

He’d yelped afterwards. Danny had smacked him for calling Laura by that sexist nickname. (He was getting better at that, though.)

So he was applying for an adults’ course in professional photography, at the same place Danny had started – and promptly quite – her personal training course. Every Thursday evening, then, Danny was going to have Kirsch arriving at her apartment a little later than usual, practically jumping out of his skin with delight.

Danny was glad for him. They’d both started a new chapter in their lives, and despite the heaviness that accompanied them everywhere they went, it was still quite exciting.

She hadn’t been able to believe it when the Werwolf Ausschuss für Osteuropa had voted overwhelmingly in favour for her _Die Siegreiche_ Games. She knew, of course, that the Committee were searching desperately for something to bring the werewolf community together after the battle, but they’d already dismissed it once. They could’ve easily done it again. They were conditions, however – mainly, that the Committee had to be involved in all of the planning. This wasn’t just going to be for her enjoyment; this was going to be for _every_ wolf.

She’d accepted that. It was likely that she would’ve accepted any condition if it meant that her competition became real before her eyes.

And, honestly, it had been the best thing ever to hear the Committee discuss it. They’d examined her plans in detail, and the athlete had peered at their reactions while they’d talked. But it only seemed positive – they were getting Koby Fenris, a local but very successful businessman, to help with the business side – and her grandparents had beamed at her when they’d caught her eye. So had her dad, too. (He’d gone to support her.)

And so had Kirsch. He’d been there, too, obviously. He’d sat with her when she was consolidating ideas, night after night. Some of his ideas – which were significantly less crappy than the ones he’d suggested back before the battle – she used, and the ideas that were Danny’s he supported wholeheartedly. In fact, he was _always_ there for her. Sometimes he was still infuriating, but he knew when to laugh with her, when to calm her, and when she needed him to hold her hand.

(She never asked him. He just knew.)

It was strange. He just _got_ her. Seeing as, just months ago, she happily would’ve torn his limbs off his body, this wasn’t a development she’d been expecting. But it just… worked.

That was Danny had been thinking when he’d gazed at her, in front of the Committee discussing the different parts of her _Die Siegreiche_ Games. His eyes had been shining at her, and his grin had been goofy, and – Jesus, she’d once thought she’d never, ever say this about Kirsch of all people – she’d returned his look, full of love and happiness.

It had been a confession of sorts for the ginger werewolf. That had been her saying she was ready. That she wasn’t scared anymore – about the competition thing, about the soulmates thing, about embracing her future. And the fact that she had him in her future – well, that made it even better.

She could imagine Jackson being so pleased about that. His “bro”, Kirsch, and his sister finally getting together. He would’ve shot them a lazy grin and commented with something like, “Finally, you got the girl! I’m surprised you managed to break through her many walls of stubbornness.”

Danny missed him. She missed him so much. He should’ve been there, attacking with her a hug like Lily had done the day the Committee had announced the plan to go ahead with her _Die Siegreiche_ Games. She woke up and it hit her like a ton of bricks on her chest.

But she was trying not to ask _why_ he wasn’t there. She was trying to ask how she could honour him in the best way possible (as was werewolf family custom.)

That involved _Die Siegreiche: Pflichtspielen für Werwölfe_ , too. Kirsch had put forward the idea of calling the competitors “Alphas”, like Jackson’s nickname. He’d been terrified that she wouldn’t like it – but, in contrast, it was perfect. It was the perfect homage, and she bet her brother would’ve adored the idea of the athletes being named after him. The Committee had understood completely why it was so important to name the athletes this after she’d explained (earning a few tear-stained smiles from all of them).

She was busy, now, because of her projects. She was glad she’d quit the personal training course, because she’d never be able to visit her friends in between her own work – although sometimes she had to bring her notes to the _Styria Herald_ office, too.

That was what she was doing now; Kirsch and Laura were furiously hammering away at their keyboards, while Danny was folded in on herself in one of the office’s chairs. In truth, she wasn’t fully concentrating on her work – she was peeking at Laura, her face stony like it had been for months. It was quite for a while, but finally Laura got up and announced she was going to go and print off something. The little journalist shuffled out of the room without ceremony.

Kirsch took the opportunity to sneak a peek at what she was writing. As soon as he found out, he winced.

“Ouch, an article on Valentine’s Day shows in Silas,” he sighed. “Man, poor L.”

“Kirsch,” Danny interrupted his thought pattern and his head snapped up to her instantly. “Don’t you think it’s weird how her soulmate clock hasn’t given her a new soulmate?”

He was silent for a few moments. Then he frowned. “Well, _yeah_ , but, like, I just told myself to leave it alone, ‘cause Laura wouldn’t like me poking my head in her business, y’know?”

She nodded. “No, I got that. But I really think something’s not right here.” She gazed out of the windows opposite her, before she looked back to her soulmate again. “Tonight. We’re going to the mountain where Carmilla died.”

“Wait, wha—”

“I need to see,” she interrupted, her speech quickening when she heard Laura walking back to the room. “I need to see if Carmilla’s really dead or not, Kirsch. We’ve got to see, so Laura can finally get some peace.”

He nodded sombrely, completely understanding, and – definitely not for the first or last time – the athlete was glad she had him by her side.

* * *

 

Panting, pacing, prowling, around the last place they thought they’d find themselves again. The snow was still trying to melt, but it was colder up here, more brittle. Every tree, every rock, looked one push away from toppling over and smashing into pieces.

(The last time Danny had been here, she’d seen that happen. She’d seen a Beltz werewolf get pinned by a tree pushed over by the opposing side.)

The wind ripped through the sky, rushed through their bones. Beside her, with fur the colour of chocolate and apprehensive yellow eyes, Kirsch shivered despite his natural lupine warmth. Save for the wind and their panting and plodding, it was quiet. Nothing scampered through the undergrowth, no birds called overhead. The place reeked of death and everything here knew it.

(The past was playing in her mind like a slideshow. Every step she took, she was mirroring the march of the dead.)

She hated this, so much. She could feel the pain and the suffering like it was the frosty breeze. She whined quietly; immediately Kirsch trotted over to her and knocked his body against her. This forced her to balance herself; her tail was thrust back out and her ears shot back up again, when they had previously been flattened against her head. This was simple wolf communication: she shouldn’t be fearful. They were going to get through this.

She often said this, but she was so thankful for Kirsch.

He hadn’t been faring much better, but at least he’d tried to concentrate on the mission ahead of them. She’d let her head dive into the smell of death, and she couldn’t let herself wallow now. She kept her head close to her soulmate’s, and pressed on.

The mountain wasn’t hard to locate. It was still showing signs of disruption, which made it look so different from the expanse around it. It made it look _alive_. That unnerved Danny even more.

Still, they managed to find an entrance – the entrance her dad had used – after searching for what felt like forever. It was harder in the dark, but their canine senses were more than making up for the lack of light. When they did find it, they wasted no time in squeezing themselves through the small spaces (in their human forms; no wolf like them could ever get through such small spaces), noses pointed forward in an attempt to sense their way forwards. The new werewolf led the way, followed by the athlete.

It was exhausting, more exhausting than she’d figured it would be. She felt drained, like all of her energy was being used up in keeping her bones in position. Danny, who usually had _excellent_ endurance skills, was as alien to this feeling as she was to cowardice. The fact that she’d let a _mountain_ tire her out annoyed her to no end.

The result was eventual but sudden. Before Danny could properly comprehend it, the tall journalist turned back (somewhat slowly compared to the more experienced werewolf) to his human form and stopped moving, lighting up matches he’d taken along with his father’s lighter. Immediately, it gave them both a better approximation of the space they’d found themselves in. “Danjada!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the large, cavernous area they found themselves in. “I think – I think Carmilla’s here.”

The spaces between the rocks had opened up, so a makeshift ceiling was above them. The athlete scrambled to her soulmate, waiting as he rested his hand on her shoulder. She huffed, waiting for him to continue.

“You see this, like, huge wall here?” he asked, walking forward and slapping his free hand on the rock. “It’s blocking the vamp from escaping. She’s behind it, I know it. I can smell her. She doesn’t smell any _more_ dead, y’know?” He paused, considering his words. “Smelling people is never not gonna be weird to me.”

Danny stared up at the ceiling. It was still swathed in darkness, but the light Kirsch had produced helped a little bit. The way her soulmate’s voice had bounced back was strange, too, like something was above the wall of rock.

She reared up onto her back legs and placed her paws on the rock, getting closer to what was above it. Kirsch brought the matches closer, peering through the dark himself.

“What d’you think you see, D-Bear?” he wondered quietly.

What she guessed? That the rock above the wall in front of them could have acted like a roof. That the rock could’ve protected the illustrator from being crushed. That the rock could’ve saved Carmilla.

And Kirsch was right. She didn’t smell any more death than what she’d come to expect with the vampire. The remnants of her dad’s scent were here, but they were very faint. There was no leakage of anything, otherwise. It all stopped at that rock, that barrier.

She fell back on all fours, before turning back to her human form. Instantly, the ex-frat boy moved closer to her.

“What did you see?” he asked again.

She grabbed Kirsch’s free hand and pulled him away from the wall. She needed to call her dad immediately. This was going to require lots of workers, and probably lots of building equipment. Wilbur Francis’ meeting would just have to wait.

“Dan, wait! Tell me!” he pleaded.

Danny turned back to him, pinning the journalist to the spot under her gaze. “I don’t think she was crushed,” she informed him, and his eyes widened in shock, “so we need to get her out.”

* * *

 

In truth, Michael had long since stopped believing in miracles. If they existed, he reasoned, then he would still be alive – _truly_ alive, not just this misconstrued version of existing – and his friends would not be dead. If miracles did exist, then he would not be stuck in the mansion, feeling like he was trespassing on someone else’s treasured ground as he didn’t want to inconvenience his friends anymore and they insisted he stay somewhere he knew. If miracles existed, then Carmilla would still be here and he would be in another place, not walking around with his ghostly illusions of people he used to know.

Ghostly illusions, memories. They were the same thing, really.

It was a great building. Obviously. It was beautiful, antique and vibrant. It perfectly suited his nocturnal pattern of life and he didn’t need to think about central heating too much. He could float around in peace, do whatever he liked. No one cared when he sang too loudly, or showered too little. It was freeing.

It was lonely.

He visited Kirsch often, of course. (That automatically meant he saw Danny, too.) And he never passed up an opportunity to see Laura, or LaFontaine, or Perry. That was how they were surviving; holding on to each other even when they were trying to continue with life as normal. It just made sense to keep each other together when everything had tried to pull them apart. However, it did mean that everything was a reminder of what they’d lost together. Who’d they lost together.

So, when he received a text from his brother one evening while he was halfway through his breakfast, his world changed again.

_Big Bro (20:30): Bro, get lil hottie!!! Carm’s alive!!! :D :D :D_

_Big Bro (20:30): No, like, she’s dead_

_Big Bro (20:31): But not crshed_

Not _crushed?_ But Michael thought—never mind. Now was a time for action.

_Lil Vampy (20:32): Whatttt??_

_Big Bro (20:34): Danny + I went 2 the mountain where C is + we saw tht she hadn’t been crshed, so Mr Lawrence got like thse builders + stuff 2 dig her out_

He felt his grip loosen on his phone; it clattered to the floor but wasn’t picked up. Michael couldn’t believe it. This was… this was like nothing he’d imagined in the aftermath of the battle. He was excitable – a rush of anticipation had suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders – but he had to calm himself. It may have been a false hope. She’d literally been there for months; would she be able to survive without blood for that long?

Michael couldn’t. He couldn’t survive for two weekswithout it, never mind _months_.

(But then again, he could count the years he’d been a vampire on one hand. She, however, was in her _fourth century_ of existence.)

He finished his glass of blood and tossed the book he’d been reading over to the side. (This time it didn’t take the chair with it. Score.) Sitting up again, he sent off another text.

_Lil Vampy (20:39): Thanks for telling me, bro, but… what do you want me to do about it??_

_Big Bro (20:40): We’re on r way 2 u. U hav blood, yh?_

Well, duh.

_Lil Vampy (20:41): Totally. Are you coming now?_

_Big Bro (20:41): As soon as we can. It’ll b a few hrs tho_

_Big Bro (20:42): Can u get Laura? + Perry! + LaF! They will want 2 no_

_Lil Vampy (20:42): Are you sure getting Laura is a good idea? What if we can’t bring Carmilla back?_

Honestly, Michael didn’t think he could cope with Laura’s devastated face if this didn’t work. He’d already had to go through it once. The tiny gay journalist was the _last_ person you wanted to disappoint.

_Big Bro (20:43): What if it’s possible?? Mr L says so. GO!!!! :)_

If Mr Lawrence was in charge of the expedition, then he would be trying to get to the mansion as quickly as possible. (Michael knew what his eventual father-in-law’s driving was like. He also knew how guilty the werewolf felt. Boy, he was glad he wasn’t getting in _that_ car.)

That decided it. He instantly stood up and rushed upstairs to get ready. He had to collect his friends.

Thirty minutes later, he was at Laura’s apartment. Clad in his long, hooded black coat, buttons done all the way to give off the impression that he was cold. He rapped his knuckles against the doors impatiently.

A minute later, Laura opened the door. She was still dressed in her work clothes – her favourite giraffe blouse, and her work suit. Her hair was slightly ruffled and her eyes looked glassy. She tried to perk herself up for her friend, though. “Michael?” she yelped. “What are you – um, it’s really nice to see you!”

“You too,” he smiled curtly. “We have to go. Something’s come up. You need to be at the mansion as soon as possible.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth opened. “Mike – what – what’s this about?” she stuttered.

He shook his head. Telling her wouldn’t be a good idea right now. “I can’t say. You just have to come. Please trust me on this.” He paused. “Do you trust me?”

She stared back, quieting down immediately. “Of course. Okay, I’ll – I’ll just…” She motioned erratically before rushing to get her shoes and coat.

Another forty minutes, and they were doing exactly the same thing at LaFontaine’s and Perry’s house. Unlike the last time, however, Michael explained quietly what was going on – out of Laura’s earshot, of course. At the news, LaFontaine instantly stopped cooking and started putting the utensils and ingredients away.

“We have to do this for Laura,” LaFontaine nodded to Perry, who was having the same doubts as Michael had had. “Even if it doesn’t work – at least we had a chance, right?”

Michael just nodded, despite the nervousness swirling around in his stomach. He checked his phone again

“Okay, fine,” Perry relented after a deep breath. “And Michael, sweetie, you don’t have to have your hood on indoors. The sun set hours ago.”

Whoops. “Habit from my time in the clan,” he admitted, wincing. “Shall we go?”

* * *

 

The car ride to the mansion had been really tense, _really_ silent. No one had dared speak, and everyone kept glancing at Laura. Even Michael, who was meant to be driving. Their pallid faces meant Laura had a pretty good idea of what was happening.

It was something to do with Carmilla. She knew it.

Why wouldn’t they tell her? She could take it. She was sure she could take it. She’d had months of being without her soulmate now; anything to do with her was just another punch to the chest.

(And another. And another. Did it ever stop?)

Michael was driving really quickly. And glancing at the watch on his wrist. And glancing over at Laura. It went road, watch, Laura, watch, road. Repeat. He’d done that over thirty times by the time the four of them arrived at the mansion.

Stepping into the safe house again felt painful. It brought back all sorts of memories – both good ones, and bad ones.

(Laughing with her friends whilst playing cards; getting stuck in her book night after night while Carmilla played lazily with her hair.)

(Nights of loneliness; nights of dreams she never wanted to wake up from.)

She automatically looked to Michael, who had just taken his shoes and coat off. He must’ve seen the expression on her face, because he took a hold of her hand and squeezed it. She let go when she was ready.

She took off her outer clothing and moved into further into the mansion, unconsciously reaching the downstairs room she’d spent most of her time in.

It looked the same as before, but Michael had put a CD player in the corner of the room and had a pile of books strewn on the sofa. The fireplace lay dormant; it was cold to the touch. It hadn’t been used since the last human had used it. Silently, LaFontaine and Perry followed her into the room, monitoring her carefully.

Then the world exploded in a burst of noise.

“Michael! Good to see you again.”

“How is she?”

“Same as how we found her. Move, Wilson!”

“Who put that cloak there? Seriously?”

“Stop – just keep moving!”

Laura had been startled by the noise, but LaFontaine hadn’t moved an inch. She whipped around to see their face, but there was just… haggard acceptance. That was the best way she could describe it, anyway.

Perry came back, looking slightly flustered.

“What’s happening?” she asked, a bit desperately.

She answered in true Perry form. “Um, so, something happened, and, um, I just wanted to come prepare you so that you wouldn’t freak out. So Kirsch and Danny went to the… mountain where Carmilla – Carmilla was. And, um, they found, um…”

“Okay, sorry, Easy Bake, she’s heavier than she looks,” Danny rushed as soon as she stepped into the room. Kirsch, Michael and Mr Lawrence came after her, whipping around her to prepare the room.

Because in Danny’s arm was Carmilla.

Carmilla, who was supposed to be crushed under tons of rock.

And yet, she wasn’t. She wasn’t unscathed, just not… crushed.

Michael, Mr Lawrence and Wilson scrambled to free the sofa of books. Gently, Danny placed Carmilla’s lifeless body down on the sofa. “Okay,” the athlete mumbled as she stepped back to let Laura in. Immediately, Kirsch wrapped his arms around the werewolf.

“Carm!” Laura reacted, running over to where her soulmate was.

She was so cold, _so_ , so cold. And her body was limp. She was covered in a thick layer of dust and the stench of dirt was overpowering. But she was _here_ , she was here, and right now Laura couldn’t think of a better (or possibly worse) thing happening. Sure, seeing her soulmate in front of her, not moving in the slightest, was kind of breaking her heart all over again – but now they actually had a chance to save her!

Danny breathed out heavily. “So we think she’s… I mean, she seems dead, but she’s a vampire, right?”

“Well, blood! She needs blood!” the tiny journalist almost screamed at them. Alarmed, LaFontaine whizzed off to retrieve some from the fridge.

“Would she be able to survive months of not having blood?” Michael questioned, the frown making his scar more disfigured. “I know I couldn’t.”

“The mountain must have had an effect on her, however,” Mr Lawrence argued. “It… it preserved our energy, or something. When I went in it sucked it from me, but when I escape it gave my physical energy back.” He turned his head to the vampire on the sofa. “She might still have some energy left in there.”

LaFontaine arrived just seconds later, blood packet in hand. Laura snatched it from their hands with a quick, “Thanks, LaF,” and ripped it open. Slowly, she poured it into the illustrator’s mouth.

And they waited.

And waited.

Laura poured some more down her throat, her heart pounding. What if this was it? What if Carmilla had slipped away before they’d realised they could rescue her?

It was silent.

Laura didn’t like it.

Suddenly, Carmilla sat up, coughing slightly.

And fireworks went off inside Laura. Carmilla was here! She was okay! Oh, God, she’d never felt so _relieved_. It rushed through her body, to her fingers and toes, just at the sight of the illustrator propping herself up and looking around the room, dazed. The girl she loved was here again.

“Whoa, that was a kick,” the vampire remarked, as if she hadn’t almost practically _died_. …Again.

Laura couldn’t help it; she barrelled into her girlfriend and gave her the most heartfelt hug she’d ever given anyone. She could feel Carmilla’s smirk against her head, and her heart started beating faster – because, God, this was _real_ , Carmilla was hers again.

Nothing would ever break them apart. If she’d thought that before, she was beyond sure of it now.

She hadn’t noticed it, but everyone else had cleared out of the room to give the soulmates some space. Quietly thankful of this, she got up and watched as the illustrator followed suit. Carmilla was slower, with her stomach wound, but she still got up without help.

“Are you hurt? It looks like maybe you’re hurt. And I’m sorry I hugged you so hard that you’re hurt, it’s just that you were dead and now you’re not and – I missed you _so,_ so much, Carm, but that’s never gonna happen again because we won’t let it, r—” she rushed.

Carmilla kissed her.

There it was again, that exploding feeling. Everything had slotted into place again.

And somehow – between the feeling of floating and flying, like she’d somehow earned wings through kissing her girlfriend again, and between having her mouth otherwise occupied – somehow she managed to speak again. But the only words she could say were, “You’re home, you’re home.”

Carmilla smiled, stroking Laura’s face with her thumbs as she beamed back at the tiny gay journalist. “I’m home,” she agreed.

Laura had never heard such blissful words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com!


	27. Promise Me You'll Never Leave My Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later. Same people, new adventures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is! The final chapter of Take Me Home, Where I Belong. It's been a ride, friends. This has led to months of total joy at living inside this world, countless hours of pushing myself to write as well as I can (in all respects), and walking around with a huge grin after seeing how people have reacted (as well as some frustrating moments of laptops dying and unavoidable writer's block - but, hey, they're not important). I am so, so proud of this fanfiction - and I am delighted that, by the end of it, it's managed to generate 14,000+ views. (14,000! That's insane!!)  
> All of your reads, kudos, and lovely words have made this a wonderful, wonderful experience, and I honestly can't thank you all enough for them. You're all so caring and the fact that you even took time out of your day to consider this little fanfiction blows my mind.  
> Hopefully, you've enjoyed this work as much as I've enjoyed writing it. It wouldn't have been half as worth it without you guys.
> 
> Chapter title taken from Follow You // Bring Me The Horizon.  
> (Warning: This chapter is literally just fluff. Be prepared.)

It was funny, how things seemed to find their place. How life always found a way to reward, no matter what had happened in the past.

Sometimes it was the little things. Waking up from a good night’s sleep and not feeling like it was something rare, or unique. An easy smile from the people who’d lost so much.

Sometimes they were bigger, gifts of a moment wrapped up in contentment. Seeing Perry and LaFontaine bring their adopted child home for the very first time. Getting caught up in the excitement and anticipation of _Die Siegreiche: Pflichtspielen für Werwölfe_ come to life before their very eyes. Moving in together, balancing laptops and art supplies and piles of newspapers on the exquisite antique table.

Laura was pretty sure this had been her fate all along. There was no better alternative. This had all she wanted. She’d done a lot to get to it.

She knew pain. Not by choice. It had commanded her to be its best friend; it had settled comfortably in her chest for months on end, acting like it was coming home. (She guessed it _had_ , really – she had, after all, gone through all of this before with her mom.) It had intended to stay forever.

She didn’t allow it. So now it just came back in whispers, lamenting the strength it had once had.

Sometimes she woke up, fear and loneliness spilling over into reality from her nightmare. For those moments, she was transported two years back to when she’d felt the most disconnected from life anyone could ever feel.

Sometimes, she felt Carmilla press into her and murmur that she was here, she was right here and she wasn’t going anywhere. Then she was back in the present, snuggling with her soulmate, and that fear was banished.

Other times, if Carmilla was up and about for the night, instead of being in bed with Laura, the journalist would get up and walk through the apartment to find her. She wouldn’t be able to think about anything else except seeing Carmilla with her own two eyes, making sure she _was_ alive; every time Laura found her, the vampire would drop whatever she was doing and wrap her in the tightest embrace possible.

The relief they got from those moments was hard to beat.

Laura wasn’t the only one susceptible to moments of crippling uncertainty. Carmilla had suffered anguish, too – more so than Laura, and more than one person should _ever_ have had to suffer – and this still showed. The vampire had, for the most part, dealt with it – but when thunder sounded like the booming gunfire of World War I _and_ the roaring of rocks tumbling down, down, down, it wasn’t surprising that she was especially vulnerable in these moments.

The illustrator had nightmares, too. If Laura was at work, there wasn’t much she could do when Carmilla woke up, panting and whimpering, except comfort her by texting or answering her call. But if she was there, then the journalist could help.

Of course, they were usually aware of each other’s whereabouts. But in these vulnerable moments, it had become normal for them to repeat the words, “I’m here, I’m here, you’re home, I’m here,” to the soulmate that was having trouble focusing on reality. So when Carmilla’s eyes were glazed and she was folded in on herself, Laura rested her forehead against her girlfriend’s and repeated those words until the vampire came back to her.

Luckily, these moments were few and far between. That didn’t mean they didn’t happen, but they were rare, and they were both thankful for that. It meant they could really enjoy their life together now, almost free of their terrifying episodes.

And life truly was brilliant. Not just calm, not just _resolved_ … but perfect.

This had been their fate all along. Not just for Laura and Carmilla, but for everyone they’d got to know on this crazy adventure.

Michael lived in the Karnstein mansion now. He’d got used to it now, and the house itself was perfectly suited for someone with vampiric tendencies. Plus, it connected Carm’s past and her present together nicely; her past was full of ghosts, of who she had been, but it was still part of the person she’d grown into. Mike was their friend – he’d seen her as a way out. Even Carmilla had agreed – after a while – that there really wasn’t a better place for him to live.

She made him pay rent, though. Eventually, if he saved up, he could eventually buy it off her. That wasn’t going to happen any time soon – but one of the perks of being a vampire was that money tended to pile up rather quickly.

It was also pretty handy for him, because he didn’t have any neighbours that would complain about his nocturnal behaviour. Since finishing his job of educating lone _Lophiiformes_ clan members, he’d taken on two occupations – firstly, being educated about vampire history at a local Vampire Education class held by Silas University, and (secondly), becoming a location scouter for a supernatural company. Yeah, apparently that was a thing now.

Danny, being a grandchild of Committee members, knew people. Or, more specifically, people who only employed supernatural beings to travel to different locations in Austria and investigate whether it was a suitable place for creatures of their kind or not. This company that Danny knew of, _A Walk on the Wild Side_ , had a vampire branch that was only too eager to employ Mike as a travelling advisor. Finally, he had a stable job that combined his love for sightseeing with his vampiric nature. He was loved at his workplace, too; they jokily called him Scarface and lapped up his attention to detail.

So if he wasn’t out learning about things like ‘The Politics of Vampirism from 500-1000 AD’, or hosting get-togethers with the Dimwit Squad and their attachments, then he was either off to a beautiful city or a hidden gem of Austria or hastily typing up the notes he’d made about them.

In short, he was fully content. Which Kirsch was delighted about, of course. The tall journalist had been worried that he wouldn’t have been able to get a job after the battle, but all of his fears had been swept away.

The two brothers often visited their family together. Jordanna was a frequent topic of their conversations – namely, how well she’d been doing lately, being completely clean and getting therapy – and their parents had welcomed their supernatural sides with open arms. Their father had never been happier; if he hadn’t been sternly advised by his sons not to expose their secrets to other humans, he would happily have talked everyone’s ears off about how proud he was of his werewolf and vampire sons.

(Laura was so relieved he was talking again. In fact, she was so relieved about how well the family in general was doing. Four years ago, it had been a different story entirely, and it was still painful to think about.)

Mrs Kirsch tended to carry a certain “I told you so” air about her nowadays. Which she was entitled to have, in all truth.

Kirsch himself was still on his photography course, and avidly trying to construct a portfolio to go with his upcoming qualification. He was _enraptured_ by his course and all he’d learnt – Danny had been almost clairvoyant in muttering her predictions about how he would be coming home every day jumping in excitement. He’d actually done that. Frequently. It was like he was a little kid again.

Was Laura sad that he’d be quitting his job with her soon? Well, yeah. They were the journalistic partners in crime; they solved all of the mysteries of Silas together. But she guessed that good thing had to come an end – and, besides, Perry had put Laura’s name forward to be promoted to the main headlines for Silas, which looked like it was going to be approved. So they would’ve been separated anyway. At least, in this way, Kirsch got to do the thing he _really_ loved. Even if it meant he was losing sleep for it.

Because he was building up his portfolio by sometimes travelling with Michael – which was always at night. That way, the vampire could present his findings in an even more exciting way (with a little guidance from Kirsch at the writing, too), and the werewolf could present his lecturers with some really fantastic pictures. It meant that sometimes Danny would see him for all of an hour in the space of a couple days – a fact that easily made her disgruntled – but it was what benefited most of the people involved.

When Kirsch came back to Danny’s place – his place of residence for almost two years now – from his travelling with Mike, Laura was told by the moaning ginger werewolf, he was usually really groggy and tired. He was usually due to attend another class, too. That was when they tended to shout at each other the most – but really? They didn’t shout at each other a lot. Oh, God, they still _totally_ infuriated each other like nothing Laura had ever seen before, but it was different. It wasn’t rowing, it was just the way they worked with each other.

“Their relationship has a switch,” Michael observed as he enjoyed blood con carne, when everyone was over at the safe house one night. “They’re either almost sickening with how in love they are, or they’re insulting each other over stupid things like the level of laundry they have to do. If I didn’t know them both as well as I do, I’d be a bit worried.”

And – yeah, that was the best explanation she’d heard of Danny and Kirsch’s relationship. It was unconventional, and explosive, but it just _worked_. And neither could really live without it.

Which was why, Mike had told her that same night, before Kirsch and Danny had arrived, Kirsch had realised he wanted to marry his soulmate. And who was the first person he told? Michael, of course.

Except it hadn’t been the average, “Bro, I think I’m gonna marry my soulmate.” According to the vampire, Kirsch had phoned him up and greeted him with the words, _“Oh, my God, oh, my God. Dude._ Dude _. Holy fuck.”_

 _“Wilson, are you okay?”_ Michael had replied, rather panicked.

 _“This is, like,_ huge _. Holy shit. Holy shit.”_ Clearly, Kirsch hadn’t been paying much attention to his brother’s words.

_“Is there anything I need to – Bro, just tell me.”_

_“Okay – um. So. I’m gonna marry Danny.”_

_“Oh, wow! Congratulations, Wilson! Did she propose?”_ Michael had paused. _“Did_ you _propose?”_

 _“N-no – oh, God, do you think we’ve left it too late? Should we have got married already? I just – I’ve thinking ‘bout it for a while, but it’s only just hit me now that – yeah, I’m_ totally _down for this. Dude, it’s this big fucking revelation and everything. She’s the love of my life, you know? I’m so happy to be with her.”_

Michael had laughed. Quite hard, apparently. _“Bro, you had me_ so _worried then. Next time you phone me up shaking and repeating expletives, don’t tell me something we all already know.”_

Kirsch, now he had his heart set on marrying Danny, couldn’t really think about much else. He was constantly quizzing his friends how to broach the idea to the fiery werewolf as soon as she was out of earshot (i.e. whenever she wasn’t a mile radius of them). _He_ wasn’t planning to propose, though; he wanted her to propose to him, as she was so adamant about defying gender stereotypes, and all that.

His genuine, nervous enthusiasm was so heart-warming to watch. He’d bounce both his legs and watch everyone intently as the subject was being discussed. A lopsided smile would be stuck on his face for hours afterwards – which, in Carmilla’s opinion, “just frustratingly accentuated the image of him being a puppy wanting to play with its owner.” (Laura often teased Carmilla that it meant she thought he was being cute. She tried not to laugh too hard at the illustrator’s indignant expression.)

Laura found Kirsch’s rambling excitement really adorable. She felt the same about Carmilla, too, so that helped.

Danny actually didn’t have a clue that Kirsch was wanting to propose. No, that wasn’t right – she _subconsciously_ knew. But her brain just wasn’t telling her, so – being as finely tuned to Kirsch as everyone had come to expect – she’d noted that something was different. She wasn’t suspicious (it wasn’t exactly a threatening situation to be in), just curious.

Finally, a week or so before Hallowe’en, she’d come up to Laura and had tried to nonchalantly ask the busy journalist a question. (Kirsch had gone to see Perry about sending off an article, so it had just been the two of them.)

“Do you think the man-puppy is ready for marriage?” (Somehow Carmilla’s nickname had caught on, with variants being made left, right and centre.)

Laura had been caught off-guard, which was why she’d nearly knocked her hot chocolate over in surprise. However, she _had_ managed to stutter out a response of, “Um, I-I’m not exactly th-the person to ask, Danny. I’m kind of… not _him_.”

“I know, I know. I just thought you might’ve seen some signs, or whatever.”

Danny had been leaning forward in the seat, fixing the human with a tender expression. Laura couldn’t have helped it; she beamed at the werewolf, secretly loving how cool Danny had been trying to act whilst simultaneously baring all to her best friend.

“I don’t think you have to worry, you know. You should just… girl the hell up and ask him!”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea,” the athlete had nodded. “And you should too, Laura.”

Well, that was opening a whole can o’ worms she hadn’t been brave enough to show to her soulmate yet/ It was totally on the cards – there was really no doubt in how she’d answer _that_ question – but she hadn’t the faintest idea how to even _begin_ that conversation.

(“Hi, Carm, how was your day? Also, will you marry me?”

Yep. Definitely not the easiest thing to do.)

Danny had handled it well, by comparison, and now she was slowly but surely opening up to the brown-haired werewolf about it. Laura couldn’t really blame her for going at a snail’s pace, though; the athlete _did_ have a lot to think about, what with her _Die Siegreiche_ Games being held for the first time. It had happened that summer (and happened in a huge way), but the business side of it never really stopped. Especially for an event in its infancy. Especially for an event as successful as this.

It was, in short, the werewolf answer to the Olympics. And it was that huge, too – there had been masses of advertising, masses of paperwork, and a masses of scrambling werewolves wanting to become participants. Danny had been bowled over by the reaction – but who wouldn’t have been, in her shoes? This was her baby. And it was going down a treat.

Laura remembered it all; the cacophonous crowd, the vibrant displays, the impressive feats of athleticism by the Alphas on show for the audience to applaud. Danny had got them all tickets for the day (they only stayed for most of the events, because Rosalind, the Perry household child, was never going to stay awake for the whole thing, and it ended late in the evening) – and they’d all got swept up in the pure joy of the occasion. They’d screamed and shouted with the rest of the crowd, not even knowing who they were supposed to support, and they’d befriended some very competitive werewolves from the row behind them.

And when Danny had joined some of the runners for a novelty race, they’d heard the crowd go wild and got a bit teary-eyed at the whole occurrence.

How could they have predicted that they would end up here? Sitting in the crowd, cheering on their very own Olympic-style event founder, making sure a child they’d all taken responsibility for was having as good a time as they were.

It was a responsibility they were all happy to take on board, of course. It wasn’t hard to love Rosalind. According to Perry, LaFontaine’s eyes had lit up when they’d heard her name, and they’d _both_ fallen in love when they’d got to meet her. She was quieter, compared to the other kids in the home, but she was inquisitive and always wanted to explore new things. She’d always come from the garden with a muddy dress or shorts and a great look of satisfaction. Once she got over her initial shyness, too, her trust in people was unbreakable.

The agent and the editor had resolved to sort out the adoption papers the same day they’d met her.

Everyone who met her was enchanted by her. According to her teacher at the new school she’d started at (and promptly loved), she was “a pleasure to be around,” and had a “keen desire to learn how the world works.” This, obviously, was only heightened by LaF’s attempts to get her into science. When Perry wasn’t around, and when they weren’t sorting out art from their clients, they’d get her to play with Barbies and Lego and Meccano. Currently, Rosalind’s favourite structure LaFontaine could make was the double helix. (This please LaF to no end; Rosalind was clearly following in the footsteps of the scientist with whom she shared her name, Rosalind Franklin.)

Rosalind adored “Mama Perry” and “Laffie”, but she also enjoyed being around the rest of them. She called them her aunts and uncles, and they were all smitten with her. (“Jackson would’ve loved her, too, you know,” Michael had commented one time, watching the child intently as she fell onto Danny.) When she avidly told them about her day at school and what she’d learnt, they all listened, lest the girl think they didn’t care. She was enormous fun, if not a bit tiring, and it was so rewarding to see LaFontaine and Perry putting all of their energy into being wonderful parents.

Laura could see herself doing that. One day.

And yeah, there were implications, with her soulmate being a _vampire_ and all. But Laura was still young (26, actually), and they had plenty of time to talk about it. They were all, to some extent, still recovering from the wounds they’d all suffered.

Carmilla and her… This had given them a lot to deal with. When Carmilla had been rescued from the mountain, she hadn’t been able to do much more than kiss Laura. She’d been presumed dead for _months_ ; clearly, she hadn’t been in the right situation to talk about their relationship.

When she finally _had_ been in a good enough position, they’d agreed to… slow things down for a bit. Laura had defied Carmilla, turned against her actually pretty justified reasons – and honestly, it was a damn miracle that no humans had been killed. So, yeah, it had been painful, but it had been needed. They’d set out what they’d wanted and steadily rebuilt what they’d had. Every kiss since then seemed more endearing, somehow, every flirty comment thrown her way floored her more.

(Laura figured that if Carmilla’s return from the mountain had been like dusting sugar on their lips, then their agreement had made it taste like grenadine.)

She cast her mind back to the day they’d told Kirsch that his brother was a vampire. That special, burning moment between them in the dingy kitchen, where the spark between had flared into flame. Laura hadn’t been joking when she’d called Carmilla her adventure. Admittedly, the vampire’s presence had brought _another_ adventure along – one they all wished had never happened whilst simultaneously never wanting to forget – but Laura and Carmilla? They were different to that. They were an adventure in themselves – tiny gay Laura cannonballing through life, with the useless lesbian vampire by her side. (And probably complaining the whole way.)

The journalist was so glad she was sharing her life with the illustrator. She would never be able to find anyone else she’d rather live with. No one else would make it quite as exciting.

There was still one thing she was curious about, though. If they had so many years ahead of them, had their adventure really begun?

Naturally, Laura didn’t think so.

* * *

 

Carmilla was fairly certain Laura was being completely philosophical in this current thought process of hers. If not characterised by the wondering smile on her rounded face, then it would be evident by the fact that she hadn’t answered Carmilla’s question.

“Cutie, I’m going to take your lack of answer as an indication that you don’t want cookies to accompany this film,” the vampire sighed, snaking her hand down to Laura’s waist and squeezing her side. In front of them, the horror movie played on, unnoticed by the two inhabitants.

That brought her back to life. Or, perhaps, the mention of cookies did. “Hm, w-what?” she stammered, reacting like a deer in the headlights. “Oh. Sorry. Did you ask me a question?”

“No, no, it’s fine, creampuff. I find it positively _enthralling_ when I’m ignored by my soulmate.”

“ _Caaaaaaarm_ ,” Laura whined, pressing herself even further into her girlfriend.

The vampire mock-sighed, a smirk already present on her lips. “I asked if you’d like cookies to accompany this film. _Clearly_ you were too busy having a philosophical moment to consider it.”

The journalist giggled, whipping up the ocean inside of her. (Carmilla very much doubted she’d ever get used to that sound.) “I wasn’t – I was just… thinking.”

“About something more important than E numbers? I find that hard to believe, coming from you,” Carmilla commented.

“Shut up,” Laura mumbled, grinning. “No, just about life, you know? About how well things have turned out. LaF and Perry have Rosalind, Kirsch and Danny are thinking about marriage, Mike’s really happy in what he does now – and we’ve got each other, as well. It’s the best thing. I’m so happy.”

Such words never failed to bring a smile to the vampire’s face. Contrary to what the Dimwit Squad might otherwise have insisted, she _wasn’t_ a smiley person – Laura just brought it out in her. And the fact that Laura was so blissfully content in her life only proved to increase Carmilla’s own happiness.

She was a complete sap for Laura Hollis. (Or, as the Ginger Giant would put it, “Totally whipped.”) There was no point denying it. But, of course, there were far worse things to be.

“Cookies do sound pretty great, though,” Laura beamed, bringing the illustrator back to reality.

“Your wish is my command, creampuff.” She moved to get off the sofa, fling the blankets around their legs off of her – but she was stopped by a firm hand clasping her arm.

She looked back at her girlfriend, to see her eyes wide and desperate.

“Wait, Carm, don’t… Can I go with you? I’ll get more champagne,” the journalist gulped. Her eyes flickered to the screen – currently, someone was having their head chopped off – and she shuddered.

Immediately, Carmilla understood. “Come on, then.”

It was starting to become a tradition for the both of them to watch a horror movie on Hallowe’en night. They would curl up on their sofa, blanket and champagne at the ready, while the human squeaked into Carmilla’s side as the movie played out. It was one of the most adorable things the vampire had ever seen, and it amused her to no end. It also meant Laura clung extra tightly to her when they went to bed, which was always a plus.

(God, she was _so_ whipped.)

This year, however, they were surrounded by a few photographs and toys Rosalind had left behind. Earlier, Laura had offered to babysit the child while the illustrator and her agent had talked business, and Rosalind had been showing the journalist photos from her walk with her parents, Danny and Kirsch. (Understandably, Kirsch had taken the photos, and printed them off so Rosalind could show everyone.) They’d been pictures of various bugs and beetles, some completely uninteresting and some out of the ordinary. There were a few pictures of the adults, too – LaFontaine getting subtly scolded by Perry, Danny pulling a stupid face at the camera. Laura had gone through every picture with Rosalind and had got her to talk about each one. She was wonderful with children, and Carmilla hadn’t expected any less.

“That could be your child in the future, y’know,” LaFontaine had commented breezily. “Eyes like Laura, your mentality. Actually, probably not the last one, I don’t think that’d be helpful for a little kid.”

Carmilla had rolled her eyes. “You really know how to flatter someone, Bobbsey Twin.”

LaFontaine had shrugged. “I was just saying. Maybe being glued to Camus and Nietzsche at the age of 3 isn’t the best idea for your little one.” They paused. “Don’t knock the idea, though, vamp. Having kids, I mean, not the premature philosophical broodiness. It’s really, really fun.”

Of course she’d thought about it. How could she not, when her friends had a permanent little Mini-Me walking around alongside them? Such questions were bound to come up – and so far, Carmilla had only come up with one answer.

Marriage first. Then everything else could be sorted out.

(She’d been thinking about that, too. If Laura was ready, then Carmilla was perfectly happy to ask, or be asked, with an affirmative answer. She didn’t know how they’d want to pull it off, but they were details – once again – that could be sorted at a later date. What mattered was getting through the proposing, first.)

With that – there was really no other way to put it – dauntingly euphoric thought in mind, Carmilla made her way to the kitchen, clutching to her terrified soulmate. She tried to take the journalist’s mind off the movie by kissing her (which worked a bit _too_ well), and soon enough they stumbled back into the living room, a cookie between the vampire’s teeth and the packet in her hand, while Laura was still holding the champagne bottle.

“Will you ever tell me where you get this ridiculously expensive champagne from, so I can surprise you with it one day?” her girlfriend wondered, now safely back under the blanket.

“Where would be the surprise in th—ah, shit,” Carmilla cursed. She’d stepped on Rosalind’s Barbie, and promptly cursed herself for not detecting it despite her vampiric constitution.

“If Rosie brings any more toys over, we’ll have to find a cupboard to store all of her stuff. We can’t have you tripping over it constantly,” Laura teased, pouring more champagne into their wine glasses.

Carmilla just rolled her eyes.

They settled back down again, embracing each other as the tension started building in the movie. The illustrator could’ve stayed like that forever, her chest rising and falling in time with Laura’s, Laura’s warmth seeping into her. Considering how overactive her girlfriend was – thanks to the movie, and in part to the champagne – she was completely at peace.

She was sick of eternity, but if she could spend it like this – well, then she wouldn’t really mind it at all. Endless embraces, babysitting her friends’ children, maybe even her own. Mircalla Karnstein, Duchess of Styria could never have expected a lifetime like this.

“Do you want kids one day?” Laura murmured, as the action in the movie lulled temporarily. Perhaps the champagne had loosened the human’s tongue – but either way, it was a loaded question. Carmilla wasn’t sure how to proceed.

Eventually, she settled for the only answer she could give. “I’m flattered you asked, cupcake, but I think I’d like to get married first.”

“That’s – good, yeah,” the brunette stammered. She adjusted her hold on Carmilla, and settled deeper, sighing contentedly. “Thanks for telling me.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Quietness descended as they continued watching the movie. It had reached its climax – the big event to resolve the situation – and the vampire barely registered what was happening as more and more people were killed. (It wasn’t like she’d never seen those techniques of killing with her own eyes before.) Laura wasn’t reacting either; obviously, she was deep her in own thoughts also.

And that was probably why she managed to muster up the courage to ask.

“Laura.”

“Mmhmm?” The tiny gay journalist had started tracing lazy circles on Carmilla’s hand with her thumb.

“Will you marry me?”

The circles halted. Time seemed to do the same. “W-What?”

And, really, what point was there in deliberating?

“Laura, I think I’d like to marry you. We’ve both been thinking about it, and I’m aware there are issues involving my nature, but at this moment there is nothing stopping us from going forward and getting married. And, yes, I’m aware that if you say yes, I’d have to propose in front of your friends so you get the grand gesture you deserve, but all I could think about was how I much I love you and how much I would like to sp—”

Carmilla was interrupted by Laura pouncing on her. Actual, literal pouncing. A guttural sound of surprise caught in the vampire’s throat as her soulmate kissed her. That did not mean, however, that she was complaining about this somewhat amusing development.

“You’re such a sap, Carm,” Laura grinned (a smile mirrored by the illustrator), her nose touching Carmilla’s. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

In that moment, the vampire was aware of two things. Firstly, Laura’s heart was pumping at an amazing rate, almost like a hummingbird’s, from where it was situated above the illustrator.

Secondly, she knew that Laura was worth all the pain she’d suffered. Every moment of terror, every moment of loss. All for a moment such as this.

It had taken 334 years for Carmilla to find her soulmate. If she was asked, she’d do it all again. Just so she could be with this awkward, beautiful human she loved so much.

Even after everything, she would choose Laura every time.

* * *

 

Out in the mountains, where no movement had been felt for two years, a deep rumbling emanated from deep underground, set off by a screech from something wholly unearthly.

A sound reminiscent of aeons past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much for accompanying me on this journey! I really appreciate it!
> 
> Come shout at me on wild--w0lf.tumblr.com!


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